The Son Rises
by ForTheJoy
Summary: BtVS/HP Xover. Voldemort is dead, but nothing is finished-an unexpected family connection pulls Xander into an apocalyptic struggle, wizarding-style. Angel/Xander
1. Prologue: Prophecies, Watchers, and Dre

_DISCLAIMER: I don't own BtVS, AtS, HP, or anything else you recognize._

**Authors note:** Just a few comments/explanations that will hopefully make my babble easier to understand. First, this story is decidedly AU. The main pairing will be Xander/Angel, meaning slash. Here's what you can expect from canon:

**HP Canon:** This story is set two years after Voldemort's defeat. For the sake of this story, HP canon ends with OotP. Harry Potter defeated Voldemort at the end of his seventh year in some unspecified way, but pretty much nothing else from HBP and DH happened, unless it is mentioned during the story. This means Dumbledore and Snape are still alive, the Trio attended Hogwarts seventh year, the Epilogue is not happening, etc.

**BtVS/AtS Canon:** Everything from BtVS happened, it's just been pushed four years into the past. So, rather than having their sophomore year in 1996-1997 (I don't know if that's really right, I'm just figuring the school year was 1996-1997 even though the series started in March), it's in 1992-1993. I haven't read the comic book, and I've only seen a couple episodes of Angel, so most of that won't be included. It's now a year after _Chosen_, and the Sunnydale group has set up shop in Cleveland. The AI crowd is working out of the Hyperion, Cordelia is Angel's seer since Doyle's death, and Fred, Gunn, Wes, and Spike are all rattling around. There's no Connor, Illiyria, or much interaction with Wolfram & Hart.

**Timeline:** A basic timeline for the story  
1976-1977: Xander, classmates are born (BtVS)  
1979-1980: Trio-age children are born (HP)  
1981: Voldie's first defeat (HP)  
1991: SS/PS (HP)  
1992: _Welcome.../Harvest_ (BtVS)  
1998: Voldie's second defeat (HP)  
1999: _Chosen_ (BtVS)  
2000: Setting of story

I really hope that I've explained everything okay, but, please, let me know if I've goofed something up or am just not making sense!

--

**Prologue - Prophecies, Watchers, and Dreams**

_Prophecy by S. Trelawney to M. McGonagall, 20 May, 1999  
The son rises from darkness… Hunted by the father, shielded by the brother, and buoyed by the shadowed angel, he Sees all but his true purpose… For only the forgotten son can stop the evil ere the gate is opened and all is lost._

_The Dark Lord has fallen but all is not finished… For the father brings destruction… And the son rises from darkness…_

--

_--Dream--_

_Heart pounding in terror, Xander's on his knees performing CPR in an underground cavern. He pulls back to check for a response, and rather than Buffy's lovely features he finds himself looking into Angel's eyes, warm and soft in a way he never knew he longed to see. Angel reaches up and cups his cheek with a large, cool hand, and the terror melts away. Xander reaches up to cover the hand with his own, but before he can, the cavern and Angel disappear…_

_…and Xander's on Kingman's Bluff facing Willow, dark-haired and dark-veined, and he needs to love her enough to save the world. She raises her hand and_ changes, _suddenly older than she should be. This is the Willow he saw last night, not the Willow who lost Tara years ago, but he doesn't notice until she whispers—_

Are you ready?

_And magic slams into him, crawling up and down and_ in, _and his subconscious recognizes this feeling, matches it with the bubbling tension he feels when he's angry or frightened, the reason why he tries to stop getting angry or frightened altogether because one day, one day he knows this energy inside him will boil over and flood everyone._

_Willow laughs, childlike, clapping her hands with glee because he doesn't understand, and then she's gone, the bluff is gone…_

_…and he's in an alley he doesn't recognize, fighting people—not demons, not vampires, but not normal, either—who all wear dresses, even the men. Xander would laugh except he's too busy running from the spells they're casting; they make Willow's mojo seem like party tricks and he runs and runs and runs, but it hurts and he's bleeding and he can't run anymore…_

_…and he runs into a wall and falls down and he sees it's a wall of Angel. He looks up, up, up, begging for help because he knows Angel can help, may be the only one who can. Angel pulls him to his feet and whispers—_

Are you ready?

_He isn't, but Angel once more rests a hand on his cheek and the denial falls away. Xander places his palm against the back of Angel's hand, opens his mouth to speak…_

_…and the world explodes into blackness._

--

As far as Xander could tell, the dreams started about the same time as he first noticed he was being watched. How long he'd been watched before that, he could only guess, because everybody knew he wasn't always quick on the uptake.

He saw his watchers at work and at home, in the mornings and on his lunch break; the only time he never noticed them was when he was out with his slayers. And that made him more nervous than anything, because the only reason his watchers would avoid those seemingly harmless teenage girls was because they knew what they were.

Still, he told himself not to worry, that he was being silly and nobody would want to watch him in the first place, and, hey, it wasn't like these watchers seemed threatening with their odd clothes and appearances (how scary can someone with blue hair really be, he wondered, then remembered LeeAnn, the punk slayer with a lethal throwing arm, and decided he didn't want to know). Maybe his dreams were connected with the watchers, but that didn't mean they (watchers _or_ dreams) were dangerous.

And also, watchers? Watching him, the Watcher? He had to appreciate the irony, if nothing else.

Of course, Xander ended up being all wrong—he was wrong so often that he was starting to think being wrong was actually right for him. His watchers were dangerous…for other people, and they might have been watching him, but they were waiting for someone else.

Xander… Well, Xander was just the bait. Wasn't he always?


	2. 1: A Castle in Ohio

_**Author's Note:** Like I said in the Prologue, I never saw most episodes of Angel, so I have no idea what the Hyperion's layout is. Just go with it, okay? :)_

**Chapter One – A Castle in Ohio**

When she heard the door start to open, Cordelia hastily shoved her nail file in a drawer. "Ang—" she started, before choking in appalled horror as the man stepped inside and she caught sight of his outfit.

Plaid pants. Polyester jacket that was striped orange and brown (as if polyester alone wasn't bad enough), and that hair—well. Buffy might have had a bad dye job, and the Lord knew Angel had some sort of mousse fetish, but at least they knew how to use a comb. So much wrong, so much to comment on…. For possibly the first time in her life, Cordelia was speechless.

Eyes twinkling in amusement at her plight, the man took pity on her. "Good afternoon, my dear," he said amiably. Cordelia thought he might be smiling, but who could tell under that beard? "I am Albus Dumbledore, and I wish to speak with Angel, if he is available."

Cordelia blinked, then cleared her throat. "Just a moment." She headed into Angel's office, not even letting the door close completely before she started talking. "Angel, some really old guy is here to see you, and you would _not _believe what he is wearing!"

Angel cringed. "Cordelia, the door… Never mind." At least she didn't say it to the man's face; Angel decided to call that progress. "Did he tell you his name?"

Ignoring his first comment, Cordelia frowned in concentration. "Something really weird. Weirder than a white guy named Angel, even," she added sweetly. "Uh, Al Bumbledore? Fumblemore?"

"Dumbledore," Angel cut in before she could offer more guesses. "Is it really?" He'd known wizards lived longer than normal humans, but… damn. The man had to be older than Spike.

Not waiting for a reply, he pushed past Cordelia into the lobby, breaking into a smile at seeing someone he had not expected to meet again. "Albus!" He strode over and shook the man's hand.

Albus beamed at him. "Angel, a pleasure to see you again." His smile twisted slyly. "I'd say you haven't changed a bit, but you actually look a fair sight better than when last we met."

Angel winced. "Yeah, well, a few years ago I got a, uh, wake-up call, I guess you could say."

"So I see, so I see," Albus murmured, gazing around the hotel. "Angel Investigations… You've done well." He fixed Angel with a gaze that, as always, seemed to pierce right through him, and offered in warm, fatherly tones, "You're well on your way to redemption, my boy."

"Excuse me!" Angel jumped at the sound of Cordelia's voice; he'd forgotten she was there. "Who is this guy and why have you never taught him any fashion sense?"

Angel cast an apologetic look at Albus, but needn't have bothered—Albus was already chuckling, clearly unoffended. "I'm afraid I'm not quite accustomed to this style of clothing," he said, not mentioning that it wouldn't make much difference if he was. "The styles where I am from are rather… different than here."

Seeing Cordelia's mouth open with another question, Angel put a hand on Albus's shoulder and steered him toward the office. "We're going in here now," he exclaimed, hurrying them both inside. "If anyone calls, tell them I'm in a meeting."

Cordelia scowled at the now-closed door. "And he calls me rude," she huffed. "As if anyone important ever calls anyway…"

Feeling the unusual happiness fading to a more normal sense of brooding unease, Angel perched on the edge of his desk and waved Albus to a chair before speaking. "Any chance you've tracked me down after fifty years just to catch up?"

Albus shook his head, smiling sympathetically. He reached into a pocket on the inside of his suit coat and withdrew a photograph. "Do you know this man?"

Angel had forgotten how irritating it was when Albus answered questions with questions. With a single, sharp jerk of his hand, the vampire grabbed the photo and peered at it.

Wizarding photographs moved, he remembered, but the single person in the shot, lying in a hospital bed, was so still that the only discernable movement was the slight rise and fall of his chest. Angel's brow furrowed as he catalogued the man's injuries, starting with the bandaged leg, moving past the torso slathered with burn paste, finally reaching the face—and the hand clutching the picture dropped to his side as he turned to Albus in shock.

"What happened to Xander? What do you want with him?" Unbeknownst to him he started to growl.

"Oh, our mediwitch assures me he will be well soon enough." Satisfied by Angel's reaction, Albus placidly leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers in front of his nose, and thought for a long moment before he continued. "Are you aware of the current situation in our world?"

"You had some sort of resurrected dark lord," he said impatiently, "but I heard a kid offed him years ago." Angel scowled and stood, towering over the seated wizard. "Damnit, Albus, what's going on? How did Xander Harris, of all people, end up with you?"

Again, Albus ignored the question. "Yes, the dark lord Voldemort. He was killed just over two years ago, but recently, we've been experiencing trouble with some of his followers." Studying his hands, he asked, "Were you aware that there is more to Alexander than is immediately obvious?"

Confusion temporarily overshadowing his worry, Angel slowly sat. "He… Demons like him; he attracts them by the truckload." Angelus liked him, but Angel kept that to himself. "Other than that, I don't know. He never had any talent for magic, he left that to Willow."

"Ah," Albus gently interrupted. "Does he, in fact, have no talent, or did he simply never have the opportunity to try?"

"What the hell does it matter?" Angel snapped, running a hand through his hair. The thought that one of the Scoobies had some extraordinary trait that had escaped his notice was a bit embarrassing. Finally, the shock began to fade, and he said, "Wait. Why are you asking me, not him? I'm guessing he's still unconscious, or you'd have all the information you need." If they could cull it from the babble, that was. Angel shook his head. "Why are you here, Dumbledore? Why did you think _I_ would know him? What aren't you telling me?"

Albus's voice was deceptively mild as he replied. "He calls your name in his sleep, Angel."

Angel stared. "He. _My--?_ Wait, what-- You heard—" He paused, took a deep breath, and tried again. "I'm not the only person named Angel in the world," he pointed out. "And, you know, there are _actual _angels…" He cleared his throat at Albus's look. "Some people think there are!"

An emotion flitted across Albus's face so quickly Angel couldn't quite place it. "And yet, you know the boy after all, so I appear to have made a valid choice." He paused. "Would you like to see him? I imagine he will be rather alarmed to find himself among strangers when he wakes."

Angel had the strong feeling he was being manipulated, but nodded his agreement anyway. "The Powers will understand if I leave for a couple days."

At the flash of triumph in the other man's eyes, Angel had to wonder if he was making the right decision.

--

_Holy powerful headache, Batman, what the fuck happened to me?_

Xander carefully opened his eye and nearly screamed to find a strange woman bent over his torso, waving a stick at him. "Uh… The hell?" he rasped, his hands automatically covering his crotch when her stick pointed in a dangerous area. He tried to swallow, but his throat was too dry. "I mean, um, hi?"

"Hush," the woman scolded, her stick fluttering about, emitting an occasional flash of light that she greeted with a pleased look. "Don't try to speak until Dobby comes with your water." She bustled away.

Dobby? What was a Dobby? Xander blinked, finally looking around the room. Where the hell _was _he? Stone walls, candle lit sconces—was he in a freaking castle? Did they have castles in Ohio?

Xander was about to start demanding some answers, dry throat be damned, when he heard an odd popping noise and a little troll appeared at his bedside. "Holy shit!" Xander screamed, scrambling away and falling off the other side of the bed.

"Are you another troll? You're a lot littler than Olaf, not to say that's bad or anything, I've got a pal who's short and she can kick my ass any day of the week, you know? But you don't really look like Olaf, even without the hammer, so maybe you're something else, and—oh crap, are you crying?"

The troll was sobbing, great big tears flooding out of his huge eyes, his ears drooped sadly. Xander finally shut up and could hear the little thing stammering apologies. "Dobby is sorry! Dobby is not meaning to frighten Mr. Stranger, sir! Dobby just wanted to give Mr. Stranger his water like Poppy asked so his throat wouldn't hurt." The troll—apparently _this_ was a Dobby—streaked over to the wall and started slamming his head into it.

"Dobby" _--thud--_ "is punishing himself" _--thud--_ "for scaring—"

Xander managed to regain the power of speech. "Hey! Um, Dobby! Stop that!" Xander was awkwardly levering himself back into the bed when he suddenly floated in. "Great Peter Pan's ghost, am I flying?" he gasped.

"No," Dobby replied, finally ceasing his banging. He stared at Xander, unblinking. "Poppy is putting you in bed."

"Oh. _What?_"

"Didn't I tell you to be silent until you drank your water?" the lady from before chided, waving her stick—the stick, Xander realized, that had just sent him flying into bed. She shoved a glass at him, and Xander drank, more out of self-defense than anything else. "You've given us quite a fright, young man. You were a mess when Albus brought you in."

"Who's Albus?" Xander automatically asked. "Hey, and who are you? And also, am I still in Ohio, because I don't remember seeing any castles there, but if this is the inside of a normal house you must have one hell of an interior decorator."

Blinking her bemusement, Poppy opened her mouth to reply when the door to the hospital wing burst open, and the oldest-looking dude Xander had ever seen walked in. "I see I've arrived just in time," he said jovially. "How are you feeling, Mr. Harris?"

"How do you know my name?" The longer he was awake, the more Xander became aware of the many aches and pains coursing through his body. He was cold, tired, confused, and hurting, and he really wanted to go home. As if summoned by his thoughts, the door opened again, and a familiar face appeared. Sweet dancing Jehovah, someone he _knew_!

"Angel," he gasped, traitorous tears of relief prickling his eye. He swung himself out of bed. What he was intending to do, he didn't know—hug Deadboy, take that woman's stick, run away screaming—but it didn't really matter, since the moment he tried to take a step his legs cramped painfully and gave out.

Squinching his face in preparation for a painful landing, he felt himself falling, but instead of hitting the floor, he found himself cradled in someone's arms. And just like that, his world calmed. Safe, he was safe, and everything would be fine. His fear and adrenaline vanished so quickly he felt dizzy.

Knowing who held him, Xander looked up, into Angel's eyes, seeing the same look he got in his dreams. "I'm sorry, I wasn't ready," he whispered tearfully, forcing his recalcitrant arm muscles to reach up and touch the vampire's cheek. "I tried to run, but you weren't there." His voice sounded lost, bewildered. "Why weren't you there? You're always there."

Angel looked confused, which wasn't right. In his dreams he always looked sure, confident. Xander tried to tell him so, but all that emerged was a babble of nonsense syllables as he slid smoothly back into an utterly exhausted sleep.


	3. 2: Albus Exposits

**_Author's Note:_**_ This chapter's much with the explanations, so many questions should be answered, but let me know if anything is still confusing. Many thanks to Aongealach for the beta!_

_--  
_

**Chapter Two – Albus Exposits**

The moment Angel agreed to leave, Albus had hustled him into preparations, and they had left via portkey less than half an hour later. He had no idea how the man convinced Cordelia to leave without any further explanations (he suspected magic was involved), but he wished he could learn the trick.

Hogwarts, unsurprisingly, looked much the same as it had over fifty years ago. As it was summer, the children were gone, as were most professors, but Angel found himself drawn into conversation with the Bloody Baron, who was less than pleased to see the vampire again.

"So, again, I'm truly sorry about killing you, but like I explained when I was here in 1945, I'm different now… Where's the hospital wing?"

By the time he convinced the Bloody Baron to let him go, Albus was long gone. It didn't take long for Angel to find the infirmary, thanks to a helpful portrait (and no thanks to that damn ghost, who sent him in the wrong direction). So little time had passed between Albus's arrival and their return that Angel expected to find Xander still unconscious. He was therefore surprised to enter and find the man sitting up, and even more surprised to receive a happy greeting.

"Angel," Xander breathed, his good eye sparkling. He awkwardly climbed out of bed. By the shakiness of his movements, Angel knew he wouldn't stay upright very long, and was already moving to catch him when Xander collapsed.

Vampiric speed made it easy to reach him in time, and Angel easily hefted the man into his arms. He was about to lay him down when Xander started speaking, reaching out to brush Angel's face with a gentle touch. When he passed out again, Angel dumbly sat on the nearest bed, forgetting to put down his burden. He looked at Albus and caught a speculative glimmer in the wizard's expression before it was carefully blanked. "Did Xander hit his head? He seems… confused."

Albus shook his head. "He was ambushed by a group of wizards, although he caused most of the damage himself." His voice grew somber as he moved closer and smoothed Xander's hair against his forehead. "We had been watching him, but I did not anticipate an attack so soon." He sighed, sad blue eyes meeting Angel's. "I did not think they had yet resolved to seize him. It was a miscalculation that nearly cost him his life."

Without realizing it, Angel clutched Xander closer, pulling him away from Albus's touch. "You knew he was in danger." His voice was cold and unyielding. "You knew and you didn't tell me? You didn't tell him? He doesn't know of this world. He wouldn't know how to protect himself against you!"

Xander cringed away at the anger in Angel's voice; automatically, Angel stroked his hair and murmured soothingly until he relaxed into a deeper sleep. He glared at Albus. "This isn't Grindelwald, Dumbledore," he whispered. "You don't get to play with Xander. You don't use him as bait. You're going to tell me what is going on and why wizards are after him, and you'll do it—"

"Angel," Xander murmured, moving restlessly. He whimpered, burrowing into Angel's chest. "Angel, help."

Suddenly speechless, Angel stared down at Xander. He hadn't really believed Albus when he said the boy called out for him while sleeping, and hearing Xander—insufferably stubborn, independent, courageous Xander, who never asked anyone for anything—beg Angel to help him made Angel's un-beating heart ache with the need to protect him. Angel leaned back against the wall, settling Xander beside him, and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. Xander automatically curled closer, burying his face in Angel's neck and fisting a handful of his shirt. It wasn't until his entire body suddenly slackened, falling limply into him, that Angel realized how tense Xander had become.

"He needs you here," Albus said softly, and Angel started, having forgotten the wizard was still present.

"I wasn't planning on leaving him here alone," he snapped. "Certainly not without a fucking explanation!"

Albus gave him a mildly reproving look, which Angel blithely ignored, and nodded. "In the 1970s, Voldemort was rising for the first time." Seeing the blistering retort forming on Angel's lips, the wizard raised a quelling hand. "Bear with me, Angel. Truly, I am not attempting to be circumlocutory; this is necessary." At Angel's reluctant nod, he continued, his voice soft and calm so as not to disturb the sleeping topic of conversation.

"By 1970, Voldemort had gathered his first followers, whom he would call Death Eaters. Among them was a young woman named Bellatrix Lestrange, with her husband and brother-in-law. Several years later, a young man named Lucius Malfoy joined as well; the same year, he married one of Bellatrix's sisters, Narcissa.

"The years grew progressively darker. People began to disappear; muggleborns, and wizards known for supporting them, were inexplicably murdered. Fear began to overtake the wizarding world; no one would speak the name Voldemort, of whom no one had ever heard mere years before."

Albus looked gravely at his audience. "In 1976, as fear began to turn into terror and we slipped ever closer to open war, Lucius Malfoy had an affair with his wife's sister, Bellatrix, and she found herself carrying a child."

After several rapid calculations, Angel paled, looking with dismay at the man in his arms. Albus nodded. "Bellatrix told her husband the babe would be his, though she knew it wasn't so. Lucius forbade her to kill the child; he and his wife had been trying to conceive for years, and he was a proud man. Should Narcissa prove barren, an illegitimate heir would be better than none at all.

"But Bellatrix, bitter that Lucius still preferred Narcissa over her, refused to raise the child as her own. Using the darkest of magic, she bound her son's power the moment he was born, and hid him in the most dangerous place she could find—the mouth of Hell itself. It was her hope, I suspect, that one of the creatures dwelling in Sunnydale would accomplish what she could not.

"An unsavory couple was bribed into taking the child, and Bellatrix told her husband that their son had been stillborn. For years, no one save mother and father knew of young Alexander's existence, and even they believed he was likely deceased. Lucius had a son with Narcissa, and it became to his advantage to forget about the other boy with a claim to his fortune.

"And Alexander grew without any knowledge of his true heritage, showing no signs of magical talent—at least, not until he reached puberty, when demons, sensing the taint of the Dark magic binding his power, found him an attractive victim. It is likely he would have become aware of the town's true nature even if he had not befriended the Slayer, to a far more unfortunate end." Both men winced at the thought.

"He might have continued this way all his life, but for an exceptional set of circumstances: his young friend, Willow Rosenberg, became an exceptionally strong Wicca, was improperly trained, and lost control.

"Are you aware of the events of the night Miss Rosenberg's lover died?"

Angel shrugged. "Only vaguely."

Albus pursed his lips. "The group was all but defeated. The Slayer was incapacitated, and young Rupert's efforts to return Willow's humanity with a shock of white magic appeared to accomplish nothing beyond boosting her power even further. Willow was prepared to destroy the world when Alexander faced her."

Smiling faintly, Albus added, "He stopped her, of course, with the pure strength of his love. I have seen few with such capacity for caring. But in so doing, he withstood several blasts of pure magic, the strength of which should have killed him, would have done so had it not focused itself on another task."

"It destroyed the binding," Angel murmured, staring at Xander in contemplation. "And he would have attributed any feeling of mystical unbalance to the attack itself."

Albus nodded. "Even then, the binding was not wholly severed. Dark magic is terribly strong. Beyond the occasional odd occurrence in his presence, he still may have lived untroubled, had he not been in such close proximity to another spell of great magnitude." At Angel's blank look, Albus reminded him. "The boy was present when all Potential Slayers were awakened simultaneously, and your grandchilde sacrificed himself. That day was the final impetus needed to release his power in its entirety."

Angel shook his head. "I still don't understand how he was found by your people, or why he's being hunted."

With a raised eyebrow, Albus chided, "Perhaps that is because I am not finished. Although it appears that he did not speak of it, I am certain Alexander began feeling consequences almost immediately following Sunnydale's collapse. While we were guarding him, it became obvious that he was making a Herculean effort to control his emotions, that he was almost terrified of losing control. Likely he was, having realized his strong emotions led to strange occurrences."

"But how—"

"Patience," Albus cautioned. "Let me continue. As you know, Voldemort was finally, permanently defeated two years ago. We had a year of peace before stirrings of unrest began creeping through our world. It was at this time that my Divination professor made a prophecy." Albus shook his head. "I'm afraid I cannot yet disclose its contents." Angel frowned, but conceded.

"Finally, we learned what was happening. Former Death Eaters were allying behind a new leader, and we soon learned that leader was Lucius Malfoy."

"Fuck," Angel muttered.

"As you say." There was a hint of grim humor in Albus's eyes. "We learned of this through Lucius's other son, Draco, who served as a spy in the final months of the war. It was Draco who came to me with the news that Lucius was considering a search for his lost child, with plans to sacrifice the boy in a Dark ritual for increased power.

"Several months passed before we located Alexander, as Lucius had not let slip his location. Ultimately, we had to resort to using Draco for a blood spell." Albus's lips twitched wryly. "We set up a schedule of surveillance, which was greatly complicated by the fact that Alexander was frequently surrounded by young Slayers capable of sensing our presence. A colleague was nearly staked."

Angel stared; Albus shrugged. "He does rather resemble a vampire.

"At any rate, I did not wish to approach the boy until it became necessary. We watched and waited, with Draco and others keeping open ears for signs that a plan had been finalized." Looking away, Albus murmured, "They came too late. Lucius had become suspicious, and informed no one of the attack until they were to leave. Xander was ambushed walking home from work; terrified, and in mortal peril, it appears that he lost control of his magic."

Albus met Angel's eyes, his expression grave. "Draco, who had been placed in charge of the attack, was spared. I believe something in Xander subconsciously recognized him as family. As for the others, well." He cleared his throat. "Upon my arrival on the scene, I could identify… pieces."

Angel's already pale complexion went bone-white; with his memories of Angelus's extensive torture experiences, he could easily imagine the scene. And he knew Xander would be horrified to learn he had caused that sort of carnage. He closed his eyes. "Does he know?" he whispered wearily.

Albus shook his head. "It is unlikely he will remember much of the attack. That level of magical output is exceptionally trying, especially for one entirely unused to magic." He spared a fondly concerned glance for the young wizard in Angel's arms. "Most of his physical injuries have been healed; the extreme magical exhaustion is his largest current dilemma, and the only treatment is time. Right now, his nearly empty magical core is siphoning all available energy into its regeneration. He will be very weak for several more days, perhaps a week."

"Have you notified his friends in Cleveland?" Angel did not want to consider what Willow would do if Xander went missing for that long. A familiar, manipulative light began to dawn in the old wizard's eyes, and Angel sat up straighter. "Oh, hell no! This is your mess, you go talk to them."

After a brief staring match, Albus turned away. "Very well," he sighed, sounding suddenly old. "I suppose I'd best leave now, while it is still a decent time in Ohio." He carefully got to his feet, moving like he had broken both hips since he sat down.

Angel rolled his eyes. "Save the guilt-trip for somebody younger than you," he advised, and Albus's laughter hung in the wizard's wake. Angel closed his eyes and told himself he could almost hear the echoes even as he sat alone.

Not quite alone, he reminded himself as Xander came awake with a start, clutching Angel's shoulder with trembling fingers. "Weird dream," he mumbled to himself, patting his pillow (also known as Angel's chest). Angel could see the moment his mind began to make the connections, the way his hand froze when he realized his pillow was distinctly man-shaped, how his gaze slowly moved from Angel's shirt button to his distinctly amused face.

"Um," Xander managed, his voice rough from sleep. He blinked twice, three times, and Angel could just about see his mind attempting to kick itself into gear like a car that didn't want to start.

Angel decided to help him out. "How're you feeling?"

"Great?" Xander tried. Angel's expression clearly said he was not buying that. "Well, great-ish. More ish than great, with a little 'like crap' in there for variety, but—"

"I get it." Angel rolled his eyes.

"Where am I?" Xander suddenly asked. "'Cause I'm thinking I'm not in Kansas anymore." Seeing Angel's bewildered look, Xander added, "_Wizard of Oz_? No? Deadboy, we've got to get you a DVD player."

He'd called him Angel before; Angel wasn't sure how he felt about the return of the dreaded nickname. Deciding it was best to ignore all that, Angel answered the question. "We're in Scotland. This is a school for young witches and wizards."

"Scotland?" Xander squawked, shakily pushing himself upright. "But… but I don't even have a passport!"

Angel stared at him. "We skipped Customs," he deadpanned.

Xander grinned. "Hey, that was pretty funny! I didn't know you could be funny!"

"I have my moments." Angel really wanted to ask about the dream Xander had earlier, but couldn't quite bring himself to do so.

Xander had no such reluctance about asking potentially uncomfortable questions. "Hey, why did the old guy bring you here? I mean, not that I mind you being here," he added hastily, looking away, "but if he had his posse tailing me for months, he must've known about Willow and the slayers. How'd he know I knew you?"

"He and I worked together a long time ago," Angel said carefully, which wasn't really an answer at all, but it worked to distract Xander.

"You did? When? Doing what?"

"Wizards—people who perform magic with a wand—live in a world separate from everyone else," Angel began. "During World War II, an evil wizard allied himself with the Axis Powers to take over the wizarding world. His name was Grindelwald…"

Grateful for the change in topic, Angel continued, for the first time telling someone how he had been recruited to fight for a world he'd never known. Though Xander's expression was interested, Angel could see him beginning to droop once more, and he prattled on with little attention to his words, his focus on watching Xander as he lost the battle against sleep.

When Xander's breathing was finally deep and even, his heartbeat slow and steady, Angel carefully laid him down on his bed, covered him with a blanket, and made his escape. He had some serious brooding to do.


	4. 3: Prophecies, Past and Present

_**Author's Note**__: My apologies for the delay. NaNoWriMo ate November, and then I had a family vacation, blizzards (note the plural) and grad school application deadlines to contend with. Many, _many_ thanks to Riddick, Aongealach, Cady, and NoNameCritic for their help betaing this chapter. It would make much less sense without them. :)_

**Chapter Three – Prophecies, Past and Present**

When he left the infirmary the night before, Angel had intended to find a nice, quiet place to brood the night away. Deep in thought as he wandered the halls, he did not notice the woman making a beeline for him until she spoke.

"Angel?" He started, spinning to face her. At his unnaturally fast movement, she took a sharp breath and drew her wand, holding it at her side. "Angel?" Uncertain, now, and he felt guilty for unnerving her, whoever she was.

He lifted his empty hands, trying to appear as unthreatening and non-vampiric as possible. "I'm sorry; I have fast reflexes and easily startle."

The woman snorted, raising an eyebrow in an oddly familiar manner. "For your sort, I would actually term that slow." She smirked at his dumbfounded look. "Don't fret—your nature is common knowledge only to those of us with whom you worked previously." Her lips twisted wryly. "Meaning Albus and myself."

"Previously?" he stuttered, staring. "I don't recall… Saints above, Min McGonagall, is that you?"

She nodded, chuckling, and held out her hand, which he used to pull her into an awkward hug. Quickly backing away, he stared at her, not even realizing he was gaping until she pointedly cleared her throat. "I'm sorry, I just…" He trailed off, looking for a diplomatic way to explain.

Even after the curse, Angel had never spent much time around humans; not before Sunnydale, at least, and even that had only been a few years. He was aware of human mortality, but his only experiences with it, beyond the abstract, involved violent deaths of young people. Not since he had been turned had he experienced the phenomenon of aging in such a dramatic way.

Minerva McGonagall had been the closest thing he'd had to a friend those months in 1945. He had been tasked with teaching physical combat to the handful of fledgling Aurors preparing for war, including her, and they had developed the fast, close friendship of comrades in arms. When the war had ended and he fled, she had been one of the few things he missed.

But that was fifty-five years ago, and the girl he'd known had been replaced with a woman in her seventies.

Albus, having celebrated a centennial just before their first meeting, had changed relatively little over the years—grayer, yes, with more wrinkles, but he was essentially the man Angel knew before. Minerva, scarcely more than a teenager in 1945, was a different story.

She'd aged well, he supposed, as all witches and wizards did—he would have placed her closer to the beginning of middle age than the end. Her hair was the same glossy black without a hint of grey, and her posture was straight and confident. But she had wrinkles, numerous lines about her eyes and mouth, and her movements, while still fluid and graceful, lacked the utter ease possessed by the young. Her voice was lower, her hands slightly twisted with the beginnings of arthritis.

Time left its mark on her as it never would for him. Angel hadn't realized he could be standing with a friend, in his human guise and not even thinking about blood, and still feel so entirely inhuman.

Minerva rescued him from his verbal floundering, and increasingly brooding thoughts. "I know," she said gently, and he knew she did. She changed the subject. "I assume your presence means you are, in fact, acquainted with our guest?" He nodded, and she eyed him speculatively.

Angel's eyes narrowed. "Funny, that was Albus's reaction, too." He leaned against the wall, suspiciously studying his companion. "I don't know why I'm surprised to see you here. Always needed to be in the middle of things, you did." His speech patterns were shifting, her Scottish brogue calling out the remnants of his Irish dialect.

She gave him a withering glare. "I am a professor here, my dear boy. Where else would I be?"

Try as he might, he couldn't hold in his snickers. "You're a teacher? Working with children? You once turned me into a poodle for asking the same question twice."

"Amazingly, I've matured in the past half-century," Minerva replied dryly. "Which makes one of us." She smiled smugly.

"Ah, but how could I improve upon the paragon of wisdom and maturity that I already was?" Angel riposted, smirking at her.

She looked momentarily taken aback; she probably was, Angel realized ruefully. His humor in 1945 had been more cynical, more self-loathing, more…nonexistent. "You've changed," she observed, showing her thoughts had followed a similar path. "If not physically." She gave herself a wry once-over. "Alas, that I cannot say the same."

He gave her a sweet smile, deliberately charming. "The years have only added to your beauty."

Unable to keep from flushing slightly, she snorted. "You can save that dribble for the lasses too young to know better." Angel smiled inwardly at her reaction, and then it was his turn to shift the conversation away from the changes brought by the years.

"I don't suppose you know the real reason Albus was so determined I come?" He may have let the wizard's explanation stand, but he hadn't been fooled.

Minerva avoided his eyes. "As if that man shares his thoughts with anyone."

"As if that ever stopped you before," he retorted, grinning at her. "And you didn't answer the question."

She remained silent, but Angel simply waited, head cocked expectantly. His eyes crinkled in laughter at her scarcely audible oath. "Now, Minerva—what would your students think to hear you using such language?"

"They wouldn't dare ask such impertinent questions in the first place," she sniffed.

Abruptly serious, Angel slowly, deliberately placed a hand on her shoulder. "I'm not being impertinent; this isn't some game. You know what Albus is like. I will not let him use Xander like he used me. I deserved it; Xander doesn't."

She gave his hand such a poisonous look he hastily removed it from her person before she could remove it from his. Her expression softened at his words. "Albus forgets," she said softly. "What it is to be young, to be the pawn and not the hand that moves it. He forgets that the forest is nothing without the individual trees, and he forgets that ignorance is not generally a valid form of protection." Lips so thin they seemed nearly nonexistent, Minerva glanced at him, then away. A moment of hesitation before she nodded firmly. "Come."

Without another word, she set off, and Angel hurried to catch up. They strode silently through the dark, empty halls, until she came to a stop beside a vaguely familiar portrait. Giving him a quick glance, she muttered the password. He snorted. "Kitty-cat?"

She glared. "Don't ask."

When they entered, his eyes widened. "You're Albus!" he exclaimed in surprise.

He didn't need to see her expression to realize he'd sounded like an idiot, but her incredulous amusement was pretty entertaining. "Can we forget I said that?" he asked sheepishly. "Let me try again—this is Albus's old office. You must be teaching Transfiguration!"

Minerva arched an eyebrow, letting him squirm before letting him off the hook. "Why, yes, I am," she said mildly. "What an astonishingly astute deduction."

Deciding silence might be a good plan just about now, Angel simply nodded. He looked around, noting the similarities and differences; Minerva had infused the office with a Scottish décor that had not been present last time he visited, when Albus had been the Transfiguration professor. He threw himself into a straight-backed, wooden chair (much less comfortable than the poofy armchairs he remembered), and looked pointedly at his companion.

Rather than sitting behind her desk, Minerva chose the seat beside Angel. "We may well be playing into his hands," she warned half-heartedly, "but I am not certain I care. When I think of how long he waited to tell the Potter boy of his prophecy—"

"Hold on," Angel interrupted. "This is about that prophecy he mentioned?" He stared at her. "I'm in a prophecy?" _Another one?_, he thought, but kept silent. The Shanshu prophecy wasn't necessarily about him.

"Possibly," she said, more than a bit condescending. She continued, reaching nearly lethal levels of sarcasm. "As incredible as it may seem, however, you are not the focus."

Angel slumped against the uncomfortably straight back of the chair, feeling the air rush from his lungs in a troubled sigh. "Xander." It wasn't a question. "What does it say?" he asked tightly, remembering previous prophecies, previous misery. _~Does it say how he's going to kill me? Do you think it'll hurt?~_

Her eyes crinkled in concern, Minerva wordlessly rose and went to her desk, where she located a spare scrap of parchment and a quill. The scratching sound of her writing was uncomfortably loud in the silence, bringing long-forgotten memories of days when Liam had spent hours laboring with quill and ink in an attempt to corral his handwriting into something befitting a proper young man.

The shivery slide of magic moving across his skin brought him back to the present, and he looked up just as Minerva pulled her wand away from the paper. "This is now only legible to you and Mr. Harris," she told him as she stood once more and placed the parchment in his hand.

With an absent smile of thanks, Angel leaned forward, studying the paper intently. Minerva waited patiently while he read and reread the prophecy. "Well," he said eventually, sitting up, "it could be worse."

She nodded, and Angel wondered what her experiences with prophecy were that she would be so certain of that fact. Not important, he scolded himself, turning his focus back to their current predicament. "Is this a translation, or was the prophecy originally made in English? Are we certain the wording is accurate?"

"It was made in English by our resident Seer, Professor Trelawney." The level of disdain in her voice was normally reserved for certain species of cockroach. "And the wording is entirely accurate, I assure you."

Angel shrugged and dropped the topic. "And Albus believes I'm the 'shadowed angel'," he guessed, running his finger under the relevant text. The possessive pronoun leapt at him like a dog with rabies, and he felt a bit sick to his stomach.

His, Xander's—it implied a level of belonging that pulled at his heart, stirring a desperate yearning he hadn't realized he still possessed. He had thought that his experiences with Buffy had killed any dreams of a partner, a family; apparently, it only took the possibility to raise his hopes.

And that made him angry, because it wasn't a true possibility, not when they were discussing a man who'd always considered Angel something below gum stuck to the bottom of his shoe.

Minerva was staring at him, he slowly realized; he'd been silent for too long. "For God's sake," Angel snapped, suddenly angry with the entire situation, "does he not think there are other Angels out there? Xander doesn't even like me! He doesn't want my help!"

"Doesn't he?" Minerva asked softly. Angel stared at her. How much clearer could he be?

"I'm one of his least favorite people. He used to tell me so. At length."

Minerva had an annoying little smile on her face, like she knew something he didn't. "That was then. Now, you are the one he calls for in his sleep, the one whose help he needs. The subconscious is a powerful thing."

"Minerva," Angel sighed, scrubbing a hand across his face. "You have no idea of our past, no concept of our relationship now or then. Have you ever even met Xander?"

For a moment, he thought she would concede the point, but he had forgotten with whom he was dealing. Lifting her chin stubbornly, she commanded, "Then tell me. Make me understand, Angel, because this is not merely about Mr. Harris. This is about the entire wizarding world, about this latest threat that we are not prepared to face."

She stood up and began to pace, looking away from him. "A year. That is all we had between Voldemort's fall and Malfoy's rise, a year of funerals and memorials, of shock and healing. It wasn't long enough.

"I want more than that. My students deserve more than that. I want to teach a generation untouched by war, students with the normal worries and fears of childhood rather than those of foot soldiers. Do you know what a boggart is?" Wordlessly, he shook his head. "It's a magical creature that takes the form of your greatest fear. We used to use them in third or fourth year classes; we no longer can. Instead of spiders or banshees or dragons, the boggart started becoming dead parents and siblings, murderous relatives, dementors, Voldemort himself."

Moving slowly, as if her words had aged her, Minerva slowly sat back down. She stared at her hands in her lap, clasped so tightly the knuckles whitened. "We came terribly close to failure with Voldemort, and this prophecy makes me think the danger is not as far past as we like to think."

Angel stared at her bent head, uneasily hoping she wasn't expecting him to comfort her. "I understand," he said gently, "and I don't mind helping you fight, I just think you should consider the possibility that you may be interpreting this part of the prophecy incorrectly. Xander is unlikely to—" Her head snapped up, and he stopped talking, a little scared of the look she was giving him.

"So you say. Explain to me then, Angel, why Albus tells me your presence yesterday calmed the boy so quickly, why he greeted you with such relief. Tell me why, when you are so protective of him and clearly upset at the prospect of a prophecy hanging over his head, it is _your_ possible involvement over which you argue." Leaning forward, she added harshly, "Tell me, because frankly, it appears to me that you are being nothing more than a coward. You are afraid of the part you may be called to play, afraid that it may fall to you to keep Alexander from falling."

Angel reared back, stung. "Look, I know Xander and you don't! Where the hell do you get off—"

"Would you prefer waiting for Albus to manipulate you into this?" Minerva snapped. "Because he agrees with me, and he does not generally consider this sort of persuasion to be worth his time." She paused, shaking her head. "Truly, it would not bother me in this instance, save for the fact that I know how you react to his machinations. And Alexander has enough on his plate without having to deal with one of your sulks."

"I don't sulk!" Angel indignantly replied. He furrowed his brow. "Wait. You're doing this for Xander?" He didn't even try to hide his bewilderment. Not only was Xander a stranger to her, but Minerva had never been one to coddle anyone, regardless of their destiny.

She kept her glare, but was also blushing, and he knew that he'd thrown her. "I don't-- It's not—" she sputtered, before taking a deep breath and seeming to regain her composure. When she continued, her voice was softer, her manner diffident. "I went with Albus to the site of the attack. I am not certain you realize the state in which we found him." Seeing how pale she was, Angel wasn't sure he wanted to know. Bad enough that he knew how much it took to rattle her in such a way. "I could not protect Harry," she added, and he thought she was speaking more to herself than to him. "I can try to help Mr. Harris."

Angel wanted to ask for details about the previous war, about Harry and his prophecy and how, exactly, Minerva believed she had failed. Looking at her, lips thin and eyes haunted, he couldn't bring himself to press the issue. Glancing away uncomfortably, he said softly, "You did the best you could, Minerva."

"How do you know that?" she retorted, arms folded defensively before her chest. He could not tell if she were angry with him or herself. "You weren't there. You have no knowledge of what happened."

He smiled gently, hoping his face said what he could not. "I don't know what happened. But I do know you."


	5. 4: Remembering

**_Author's Note:_**_ So, once again I find myself apologizing for my slackerdom. This story's been fighting me a _lot_--not this chapter, actually, but the following one, where we see some of the same events from Angel's point of view, and we get the beginnings of Xander's reaction to everything. So hard! Then, I finally found a job...where they've been laying people off in ones and twos every other day, and I gotta tell you, that's just not the sort of fun environment where creativity thrives, you know? Stupid economy._

But anyway, here you go, and hopefully things should be quicker after this, as the next couple chapters are more or less fleshed out already. Hope y'all enjoy!

**Chapter Four – Remembering**

When Xander woke the next morning, he could tell without looking that someone was watching him, and that it wasn't Angel.

He was kind of proud of the first part, and pretty damn wigged by the second.

Curiosity getting the better of him, he opened his eye and met the gaze of a man who looked vaguely familiar in an 'I'm pretty sure I don't actually know you' sort of way. They stared at each other in silence.

The man was young, probably nineteen or twenty, and about Xander's height, with light blond hair and sharp, high cheekbones that gave him a vaguely androgynous appearance. His pale grey eyes were narrowed in thought as he studied Xander. After several minutes, just when Xander was about to burst from the silence, the stranger spoke. "We really don't look anything alike."

Xander blinked. "Should we?"

Something flickered across the other man's face. "Er, no?"

"Okay," Xander said slowly. They stared at each other in silence. "So, uh, hi, I'm Xander, and you are?"

"Draco Malfoy," he replied, wincing for some reason. He studied Xander intently. "You look much better than you did."

Draco's stare was giving him the wiggins. "I do? Guess that's good, right? Looking better is always… good. Better than looking bad, anyway, or looking worse, because, you know, you can look _worse_ without looking bad, not that I'm saying I usually look so good that when I look worse I'm still all that, 'cause, hey, one-eyed man here and all. Uh, not to sound rude, but were you here when I was sleeping? Is that how you know how bad I looked before? That's a little freaksome, unless you're a doctor, are you my doctor? Nah, because then you would've said you were my doctor, and you're not old enough to be a doctor, I don't think, unless you're a lot older than you look, not that there's anything wrong with that, I know some guys who look damn good for their age. Of course, that's because they're vampires, or, well, Anya was a former demon, and then she was a demon again, and… Right. So, were you?"

Over the course of Xander's speech, Draco's stare had changed into outright gaping. He opened and closed his mouth, trying to speak, then shook his head, and Xander could almost see him drawing his composure about him like a cloak. "I helped bring you here," he said tentatively, as if he wasn't at all sure what question he was supposed to be answering. "And, no, I'm not a healer. I'm just… Hasn't Albus spoken to you yet?"

"I'm having a little trouble staying awake," Xander admitted sheepishly. "Albus—he's the really old dude, right?—I think he was here when I woke up the first time yesterday, but then I fell asleep again." Collapsed like a girl into Angel's arms, actually, but for the sake of his pride that would remain unmentioned.

Draco looked inexplicably disappointed. He was about to speak when they both heard the distant sound of someone shouting, rapidly growing louder. Moving almost too quickly for Xander to follow, Draco leapt to his feet and brandished his wand. Taking a stance between Xander and the door, he brusquely commanded, "Stay where you are."

Recognizing that tone of voice as the one Buffy used on patrol, Xander realized it was useless to protest. The relatively quiet boy with the stiff, formal posture had disappeared, replaced with a loose-limbed warrior. Draco was ready for battle, obviously accustomed to it. Xander quietly picked up the pitcher on the table next to his bed. He might not be a match for those wizards and their sticks, but hey, he bet they wouldn't be expecting someone throwing glassware.

The voice increased in volume, and Xander frowned in confusion as he recognized the speaker. "Dawn?" he asked, bewildered. He started struggling to get up.

Draco half-turned back. "Sit," he snapped.

"Arf," Xander muttered, but he stayed seated. Dawn would make him lay down again, anyway.

"…and I know enough magic to know if you've been messing with him, buddy, so you'd better hope that I don't find a single hair on his head any more messed up than usual." The shouting changed to a more thoughtful, rambling tone. "Of course, that leaves you an awful lot of room, 'cause Xander's never been that careful with his hair, you know what I mean?" The door swung open, and Dawn Summers rushed in, closely followed by a seriously creepy-looking dude. "Omigod, Xander!" she shrieked, running over and flinging herself on top of him.

"Mmmph." Xander ineffectually pushed at Dawn's shoulder. "Air," he choked. "Need to breathe!"

"Oh, sorry," Dawn shrugged, rolling off to the side and wriggling until she had somehow managed to take over the lion's share of the bed. Of all the beds, she had to choose his, Xander thought to himself, trying not to pout. He glanced over at the other newcomer, wondering if he was going to get an introduction anytime soon.

"Severus," Draco greeted Creepy Man. Obviously, Creepy Man was trusted, because Draco shoved his wand into his sleeve and took a step back, relaxing.

Severus did not get a chance to reply. Dawn's attention was drawn by the sound of Draco's voice, and she cheerfully hopped out of bed—leaving Xander more than a little seasick from all the jostling—and bounced over to him. "Hi! You must be Draco. Dawn Summers," she introduced herself, flipping her hair in a way that meant she thought Draco was good-looking. And thus, the flirting commenced.

Xander rolled his eyes. "Hey, remember me? Injured guy?"

"We could never forget our boytoy."

Xander's head snapped over to the doorway. "Faith?" He blinked stupidly at her. "You… You're here, too."

Faith straightened from her position lounging against the doorjamb where she had apparently been watching in silent amusement. "Hey, Xan." Hips swaying more than was really decent (not that Xander was complaining), she sauntered over and perched on the bed next to him. "Looking rough," she commented, part tease and part genuine concern.

"I've felt better," he admitted, because this was Faith, and lying to her tended to end painfully. "It's not too bad, though." He peered around her, trying to be inconspicuous. "Willow and Buffy couldn't make it?"

From her expression, Xander knew he hadn't managed to sound as casual as he'd intended. "B's holding down the fort, but Red's coming. Got a little issue back home she needs to fix first." Faith waggled her eyebrows. "Something about a love spell. Made Dawnie think of a real interesting story to tell me."

"None of it ever happened," Xander said instantly. "Especially the part with her and the Girl Scout uniform. Yup, she made the whole thing up. Did she say Buffy was naked under that trench coat, because that's really just conjecture, and I'm pretty sure Drusilla was just kidding with that whole 'eternal life' thing." He paused, _feeling_ Angel enter the room. "Right, Angel?" He smirked a little at the look on the vampire's face—obviously he'd been expecting to sneak in and surprise everyone.

Angel's reply was forgotten when Creepy Man (what had Draco called him, again?), who had been watching Dawn and Draco flirt, heard the name 'Angel'. The man abruptly spun to face the trio, his weird black dress swirling about his legs like a cape, and Draco and Dawn fell silent, watching him with oddly similar expressions of wariness.

"Angel," he drawled in a voice so low and menacing it made Spike sound like a chipmunk. Draco made as if to move toward them, but stopped dead at a truly lethal glare from Creepy. He stalked closer, eyeing Angel like prey. "Or should I say Angelus? The vampire with the angelic face." He canted his head to the side. "I must say, I find the appellation rather…hyperbolic."

Xander didn't recognize some of those words, but he was pretty sure Angel had just been dissed. He frowned, feeling oddly protective. "Do we know you? Or is it some sort of wizarding custom to visit a sick guy and make fun of his friends?"

_Friend? Huh. _Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Angel stare at him, bewildered, but he ignored that for the moment, more concerned with the dude who was still watching the vampire like his greatest dream was to put a stake in his heart. With an embarrassing amount of effort, Xander swung his legs over the side of the bed and perched on the edge, as close to Angel as possible. With swift, predatory movements, Faith slid off her bed and took position on Angel's other side, smiling coldly, and Dawn took a step toward them, before Draco placed a hand on her arm. She scowled, but after Xander sent her a discouraging headshake, she stayed put.

"With friends like that…" the man said softly, not bothering to finish the saying. He had yet to look away from Angel; Xander wasn't sure the man had even blinked. "I told Albus it was a mistake to bring you here."

"Hey!" Xander snapped. "Seriously, man, what is wrong with you?"

The man's thin lips twisted into a smile that more closely resembled a grimace, and his black eyes glittered coldly. "My paternal grandmother was a gypsy."

Xander winced, swearing internally. "Is there any chance you're from some clan that really likes Angelus and thought that gypsy chick had it coming?"

"Xander!" Dawn hissed, glaring at him. He recognized it as her 'Shut up and don't make things worse for once' look, and bit his lip in mute apology.

Angel narrowed his eyes, going still in that creepy vampire way, and said carefully, "Then you must know how I have changed in the past century."

Severus sneered. "I know it took less than a century for you to lose your soul. Clearly, you must have been devastated by your previous actions to gain perfect happiness within a single lifetime." He plunged a hand into an inside pocket, and Xander didn't even have time to gasp before memory flashed across his consciousness like a bolt of lightening, blinding and devastating.

_~Flashback~_

_He's walking home at night when he sees the weird group; as well as wearing dresses, all the men have a hand in their pocket, holding something. Even if he wanted to, Xander can't quite hide his smile as he walks by, because the scene is like an instant dirty joke—no assembly required. He covers his mouth with a hand, glancing away, but out of the corner of his eye he sees movement, a familiar motion, and it's not a dirty joke anymore but a nightmare, because they've got weapons in those pockets and they're drawing them. He is drawing breath to scream when he's reeled into the nearby alley like a fish on a hook._

_The invisible pull sends him flying, glancing off a brick wall before coming to a halt crumpled against a dumpster, and Xander is literally incapable of moving for long moments. As he concentrates on dragging air into his battered lungs, he can hear whispers._

"_Are you sure that's him? You really don't look anything alike."_

"_Now, Vincent, I know you aren't implying my father does not know what he is doing."_

"_No, no, I never—shite, how's he still conscious?" _

"_Stop him!"_

_And then it blurs together, foreign words and flashing lights, dodging and fighting, the _snap_ of a nose against his fist and the _crunch _his ankle makes when he's tossed like a rag doll against the asphalt. And he's fighting but he's losing and he can't get away, and the rush of battle is fading under mortal terror and an anger so strong it makes his teeth hurt._

_He's going to die here, his blood painting the ground in the alley near the local Krispy Kreme, murdered by strange men with strange sticks and what will his Slayers do who will hold Willow when she cries what will they tell little Dawnie oh God—_

_No._

_Blood thunders in his ears and vengeance drowns out the pain. He will not die, not like this, alone and desperate and _meaningless, _snuffed out by the whim of these strangers in their stupid dresses. He _/iwon'ti, _he tells himself, and the air thickens and his heart hammers and his blood boils and terror and rage circle higher and higher until—_

Hands.

Hands clutching his and arms holding him tightly. Trembling, Xander burrowed into the embrace and tried to haul himself into the present.

"…breathe, that's it, nice and slow, nothing's going to hurt you here, Xan, you're safe. It's just me, okay, everyone else is gone, Severus is gone, he didn't do anything…" Slowly, like emerging from underwater, the steady flood of speech began to separate into words, and Xander recognized Angel's quiet, calm baritone.

Hours might have passed this way, Angel holding him close, rocking and murmuring an endless, babbling monologue, before Xander felt calm enough to open his eye (and when exactly had he closed it?). The warm, relieved smile that crossed Angel's face made his stomach flip-flop, but Xander was too upset to manage anything beyond a wince in return.

"Back with me?" Angel didn't wait for a response. "Are you okay? Madame Pomfrey is going to be frothing at the bit to check you out."

"She can wait," Xander said, trying to sound firm even though his voice was ridiculously weak and raspy, as if he'd spent hours screaming (and maybe he had). He pulled back enough to search Angel's expression without leaving the comfort of his arms. "Please, Angel, help me. You know what's going on, I know you do."

Angel furrowed his brow, looking like a little boy trying to explain how the dog ate his homework. "Albus—"

"Screw Albus! Not literally, because that's one old hombre, but…" Xander broke off, shaking his head. He was too tired for this, too scared to chatter and pretend all was well. "Angel, please." The anguished note in his voice made him cringe, while Angel looked as if he'd been slapped. "I wake up here and nobody'll tell me what went down, just that I need to rest to get better. Except, physically I'm fine." He fingered his eye patch and shrugged. "More or less. I know I was hurt, but the nurse healed that quick, so why do I keep collapsing every time I try to get out of bed?"

He pressed his lips together, looking to Angel for answers, but beyond an increasingly uncomfortable expression the vampire had nothing to offer. "I might be slow, but I'm not entirely stupid. Well, not always. I didn't even know there were people that used wands for magic, and now I'm hanging out with them and all they'll tell me is I've gotta talk to this Dumbledore. Well, I don't know Dumbledore, and I'm tired of waiting for him to show up and make with the explanations." He stared fixedly at Angel, unblinking. "But I do know you, and you know Albus, and I think you know exactly what's going on."

Unable to continue meeting his eyes, Xander looked away as he admitted, "I think I just remembered some things. The wizards who attacked me, they were looking for me for a reason. They knew who I am. And just before I-- Before—" He bit his lip. "I think something happened; I think I _did_ something, and that's why I'm all tired and that nurse is so worried about me. I think I almost did it again now. And I know whatever it was, is, it scares me, because I think I'm, I could be dangerous. I think I'm not as normal as everybody always thought."

Tears were blurring his vision, but he didn't care as he gave Angel a last, pleading look. "Please, Angel. I gotta know. Tell me."

Angel sighed, pulling Xander closer, and was silent for so long Xander thought everything he said had been for nothing. Just when he was about to lose it entirely and cry, Angel began to speak.


	6. 5: Only For A Moment

_**Authors Note:** I suck so much, I forgot to thank my betas last time! Many thanks to Riddick, nonamecritic, and Aongealach for their feedback with last chapter, and many, _many_ thanks to Cindy for her help with last chapter and this one. Sorry about the delays--the next chapter should be much quicker._

This starts in the past, with the previous day from Angel's point of view. Hope you enjoy!

**Chapter Five – Only For A Moment**

No matter how long he spent living with humans, Angel was certain that sunrise would feel like bedtime for the rest of his days. He hadn't slept much the night before, having spent most of it talking to Minerva; between the gritty feeling in his eyes that came from too little sleep over too long a period of time, and the sapping of energy his demon felt with the rising of the sun, by rights he should have been in bed.

Too bad he still couldn't sleep.

He had too many thoughts running through his head, too many worries and scenarios, too many images of Xander, frightened, fighting what he had no chance of understanding. After several hours spent staring at the ceiling before falling asleep, only to wake from a nightmare of exploding bodies and burning flesh, Angel gave up on the idea of rest.

Tired and cranky, he made his way down to the kitchens, where he cadged a glass of pig blood from a very uneasy house elf. Since feeling a dozen pairs of giant elf eyes watching him drink blood wasn't among his favorite things to do, he quickly downed his breakfast and made his escape to the school library.

Albus found him there an hour later, surrounded by books detailing the past war, staring at a photograph of a young Bellatrix Black. "She was a lovely girl," Albus quietly observed. "Lively, clever… cruel." A weathered old hand stroked the edge of the picture; the image of Bellatrix snarled and slapped ineffectually at the intruder.

"Vicious, dark, evil… She was a monster," Angel replied without looking up. "I know one when I see one." He abruptly shoved his chair backwards, and the resulting screech against the wood floor made Albus wince. "Someone like this, who loves violence, gets off on hurting people… it's not a sudden transition." He leaned backward and folded his arms across his chest. "Voldemort, Bellatrix, Lucius… How many psychopaths graduate from here without you noticing, Albus?"

"No one is born evil, Angel," Albus replied, bright blue eyes studying him. "Would you have me assume the worst because they come from poor backgrounds? Would you have me judge a boy because his parents are, as you say, 'psychopaths'?"

There was nothing more than mild curiosity in his tone, but Angel reacted immediately, springing to his feet and crowding into the wizard's personal space. "Was that a threat?" he growled, making a concerted effort to remain in his human guise.

Albus patiently blinked at him. "No, Angel. That was a question. Just as I know your question was an expression of upset rather than an accusation of negligence on my part."

"Right." Angel waited just long enough to make clear that he was backing off only because he chose to, not because he felt threatened. He sat back down. "I didn't sleep well," he explained, not intending it as an apology but not particularly caring if Albus took it as one.

"You never did." Albus sat down at the end of the table and pulled a book toward himself. "If you wished to know about the boy's parents, you could have asked."

"Yeah, I could've," Angel blithely agreed. He flipped through his book, moving from the picture of Bellatrix to one of the Malfoy family. An eight year old Draco waved merrily, while Lucius and Narcissa showed little reaction to their viewers. A smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, Angel waved back before gently closing the book. "Did you talk to Xander's friends yesterday?"

Albus nodded. "It was a diverting encounter." Angel could only imagine. "Severus is escorting Faith LeHane and Dawn Summers here this morning; Miss Rosenberg wished to come as well, but there is a situation in Cleveland requiring her attention." Albus smiled slightly. "She was quite vocal in her displeasure."

Faith and Dawn were not a pair Angel wanted to imagine wandering a magical castle without supervision. "When are they arriving?"

"Soon, I would imagine. In fact…" Albus closed his eyes, presumably checking the castle wards or doing some other magical thing that would tell him what he wanted to know. He nodded, looking at Angel. "They are already with Mr. Harris."

Faith, Dawn, and a Xander who was currently recovering from a magical overload. Not a particularly reassuring combination. Angel jumped up and headed for the door.

"Thanks, Albus," he called over his shoulder. "I'll talk to you later."

Looking back, Angel remembered little of what happened from the time he entered the infirmary until Xander lost control of his magic. He remembered how Xander seemed to know when he entered, where normally he would've been surprised; he remembered learning that the Severus that Albus had mentioned was, in fact, a descendent of the Kalderash, but what he remembered most of all was Xander's surprising defense of him.

Xander, his main detractor from the start, called him a friend. Xander, who had experienced the terror of Angelus first-hand, defended his past to a stranger.

Through the exchange between Xander and Severus, Angel remained silent, mostly because he could not decide what he was feeling. Guilt and shame, of course, at this latest reminder of his crimes. Honor, that Xander felt him worth defending, and surprise that he did so. Most of all, however, Angel was angry.

This situation wasn't about them. It wasn't about the crimes he'd committed or the Kalderash's desperate need for vengeance. It wasn't about a father's lust for power or an old man's manipulations.

None of that mattered, not at this time, not in this place. This was about Xander.

Xander, betrayed by the father he'd never known and thrown into a world beyond his imagination, who reached out to Angel in his dreams and joked to hide his confusion and fear. Xander, who was exhausted but still moving, still fighting.

Scarely heeding Severus's words, Angel watched Xander slowly, stubbornly swing his feet to the ground, and realized that the man was poised to protect him. He had always known Xander possessed the sort of dogged loyalty—fealty—that was unheard of outside of fables and fairy tales, but he had never imagined it might be directed toward himself. He could see Xander's arms trembling almost imperceptively with the effort of holding himself upright, the faint shadows of confusion and fear lurking in his eye, and the determined set to his jaw, and the vampire _knew_ that, if necessary, Xander would not hesitate to place himself between danger and Angel.

In that moment, Angel swore to himself that Xander would never have that opportunity.

From the moment Albus stepped into his office, that he would protect Xander had been a given. If there was a chance Angel could prevent harm coming to someone, he would do whatever he needed to make that happen, especially if that someone was an ally. Angel had come as a Champion, but that wasn't why he was staying.

He would protect Xander, not because Xander deserved it, not because it was the right thing to do, not because a prophecy dictated it. He would stay, Angel realized, because he _liked_ the man, with his odd blend of light and darkness. He would protect Xander because he respected him more than he had realized. Because sometimes, Xander was actually very funny. Because once he stopped seeing the boy he had known Angel could admit how much he liked the man Xander had become.

All of which made it intolerable that Severus would come where Xander should be healing and create a scene. This wizard had no right to come in here and disturb Xander's rest because of something that happened before his grandparents were born. He had no right to take this time to judge Angel for what happened in Sunnydale, especially when Xander himself was choosing not to do so.

Angel snapped out of his dark thoughts when he saw Severus about to draw his wand. Did the man seriously think to curse him here, in the hospital wing, in front of Xander, in front of Dawn? What would he do to them if (when) they tried to stop him?

Before the wizard could blink, Angel was in front of him, holding his wrist so tightly that Angel's sensitive ears could actually hear the bones grinding together. He smiled coldly, aware that his eyes were probably glinting gold even though his face remained human. "You really don't want to do that," he said, soft and slow, his voice so menacing that he heard Dawn gasp in the background.

Severus opened his mouth to respond, and was suddenly thrown backwards by a rush of magic powerful enough to wrench him from Angel's strong grasp. Everyone had been pushed away, Angel realized as he spun around—everyone except for him. "Xander?" he whispered, staring at the figure in the bed.

Xander's eyes were wide open, unseeing, and an endless stream of whimpers fell from his lips. Everything trembled in the wake of the magic he was releasing, and a shield had formed about his bed. While Severus, who had been thrown into the wall, was the only one hurt, no one could approach--except for Angel, the only one still within the shield's grasp.

Angel ignored the people shouting at him from the periphery and focused on Xander.

He had never seen the man so entirely terrified, and it was unexpectedly painful—each tearful gasp twisted Angel's gut into a knot, until the vampire felt almost physically ill.

This was a flashback, Angel knew; Severus's antipathy had somehow sparked a memory of the attack, and Xander was reliving it. And as much as Angel hated to see it, Xander's suffering was not the largest problem.

Angel really did not want this to end like the attack had, with Albus identifying pieces.

He could still hear Xander's voice in the back of his mind, asking for help—was that why Angel had not been pushed away, because his help was needed?

That was an awful lot of pressure. Angel wasted a second wishing for a dragon to slay or something. He was good at fighting demons. When it came to dealing with people, though, all he could say was that he was better than Cordelia.

With a quick, almost wistful glance at the others, Angel began to edge his way toward Xander, murmuring softly.

"Xander, it's me, it's Angel, hey, calm down, nothing's going to hurt you here, it's alright…" He inched closer, finally daring to place a hand on Xander's arm. The effect was immediate.

Angel gasped and flashed into game face, falling to his knees. Fear and power and anger washed over him, flooding his mind until he felt as if he were drowning. For all the mental shock of the invasion, his body seemed to know precisely what to do, organizing the chaos in the blink of an eye. Dimly, he was aware of the magical tide ebbing as Xander calmed.

Angel's soul was momentarily dazed, leaving the demon in control. Fortunately, all Angelus currently cared about was ensuring Xander's safety. With inhuman grace, he sprang to his feet, careful not to relinquish his hold on Xander's arm, and growled at the humans who were beginning to approach now that the shield had dropped. "Get out."

They complained, their words nothing more than noise to the vampire. He sat down on Xander's bed, protectively folding the man against his chest. "Get. Out," he repeated, still growling, and felt the magic begin to surge again, responding to his agitation. "Get out or die."

Either they listened or the magic forced them—at any rate, they were gone, which was all that mattered. Angel returned to his soothing muttering, rubbing Xander's back. Now that the others were gone, Angel quickly regained his composure. He concentrated on Xander, on the emotions seeping from him wherever they touched, the magic freely flowing between them. The more he concentrated, the more he could feel a connection, until he could no longer separate himself from his friend.

For this one, shining moment, Angel knew what it was to be human again, could feel the blood pumping through Xander's veins and the air rushing into his lungs. Xander's fear was his, his own skin crawled with Xander's adrenaline, and the magic… the magic was _theirs_, binding them together.

But only for a moment.

Concern for Xander pulled him back to a sense of self; by the time Xander's eye blinked open, Angel had shunted the excess emotion into a far corner. He gave Xander a relieved smile, which quickly slipped away as Xander started to speak.

Faith, Dawn, Draco, and Snape stood in the hallway and stared at the hospital wing doors that had just slammed in their faces.

Faith broke the silence. "Huh," she commented, eyeing the door thoughtfully. "Double-D didn't mention the Xandman's mad skills."

"And… and Angel," Dawn started, before stopping and shaking her head. "There's more going on here than Xander's dad trying to kill him."

Draco rolled his eyes. "How clever of you to notice," he said snidely, ignoring Dawn's wounded look. He turned to glare at Snape. "What the sodding hell were you thinking, bringing that up? I told you what happened the last time he got upset!"

An ordinary person would find it difficult to be condescending with a large bruise blossoming on his jaw, but Snape managed easily. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked down his nose at his former student. "I was not expecting that beast to be there."

Draco stared, his eyes wide and incredulous, and possibly just a little hurt. "Beast? If he's a beast, Severus, then what are you? What am I?" He cut his eyes toward the two women as if just remembering they were there, and bit back any further words, sighing deeply. "Someone should alert Albus, and summon Poppy," he quietly said, giving Snape a pointed look. "And unless you want to be the one to wait here, it should be you."

Snape opened his mouth to speak, then apparently thought better of it, his jaw snapping closed. With a curt nod, he spun on his heel and left, his robes flapping angrily about his feet.

Faith raised an eyebrow. "What crawled up his ass and died?"

Dawn giggled at the look on Draco's face. "She means—"

"I know what she means," he said tightly. He closed his eyes for a moment. "I'm sorry, Dawn," he apologized, tiredly opening his eyes and giving her a weak smile. "That was intolerably rude of me."

"A boy with manners," Faith drawled. She smirked. "You've suddenly become much less attractive, Blondie."

Draco blinked. "How… unfortunate."

"Well—"

Dawn stopped immediately when Faith raised a hand. "You guys hear that?"

They tensed, listening. Half a minute passed before the two non-slayers heard it—running feet, heading in their direction. Draco barely had time to lift his wand before the unknown runner turned the corner and reached them.

"Malfoy, what's going on?" the man asked, brushing messy black hair away from his glasses, which did little to hide his startlingly green eyes. He was slight, only an inch or two taller than Faith, but carried himself like a much taller man. "I was meeting with Albus when the hostile magic alarm for the infirmary went off. Is Harris alright?"

Faith relaxed slightly, nudging Dawn. "My ma always said good things come in small packages," she murmured. "I think this is what she was talking about."

Draco choked, caught between laughter and gagging, and the other man blinked stupidly. "Um, hi," he said tentatively. "You're Faith, right? And, uh, Dawn, is it?"

Dawn nodded. Faith slunk closer. "And what's your name, cutie?"

Dawn rolled her eyes. "I know flirting is a form of stress relief for you, Faith, but this, here? So not the time. Hey, New Guy, you know a way we can maybe see inside the hospital wing, find out if Xander's calmed down? Because if they kill each other, I am _so_ not going to be the one to tell Buffy."

"My name is actually Harry," the stranger corrected, glancing at Draco, "and who's 'they'?"

Draco leaned closer to Harry, lowering his voice. "The vampire's in with him. He pushed the rest of us out." There was a note of jealousy in Draco's voice. "Nearly put Severus through a wall."

Harry's lips twitched. "Couldn't have happened to a nicer bloke." Almost immediately, he was serious again. "Harris was like he was before?" he asked Draco.

Draco nodded. "Yeah."

"Right." Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair. He looked at the girls. "I'm going to make a section of the wall invisible, okay? But, listen—whatever you see, don't try to go in there, not until we scan the room for magic."

Faith and Dawn exchanged a look before nodding. Harry stared at both women, then shook his head, smiling slightly. "Watch them," he told Draco, ignoring their insulted reactions. He lifted his wand and waved it in an intricate pattern as he muttered under his breath.

The odd intimacy of the scene left them momentarily silent. Angel and Xander sat side by side on his bed, curled into each other. Angel was holding him tightly, murmuring quietly, and Xander appeared to be paying close attention.

Harry hastily ended the spell. "Right, they look… okay." He shrugged. "Might want to give them some time, I reckon."

"I quite agree."

Jumping like guilty children, they all spun around at the sound of Dumbledore's voice. He smiled at them.

"I hear we've had a bit of excitement," he observed.

"You missed a real party," Faith agreed. She straightened, hands on her hips. "Seems like the story you gave us was missing a few chapters, Double-D." She gave him a hard, humorless smile, and Harry did a double-take as her aura of sexuality abruptly shifted to one of danger. "We're all grown ups here; we can handle the naughty bits."

Dumbledore slowly shook his head, not breaking eye contact. "I'm afraid further details are Xander's to disclose."

"He'd tell us," Dawn said softly. "If he knew. But he doesn't, does he? He's stuck here and he doesn't even know why."

Dumbledore winked at her. "If I'm not mistaken, he's learning that as we speak."

Draco cleared his throat, reluctantly interrupting. "Did Severus speak to you?"

"That man is in serious need of a group hug and a deep-scalp massage," Dawn muttered.

Dumbledore nodded, looking oddly satisfied. "Angel seems to have things well in hand. It would be best to give—"

The remainder of his sentence was lost in a thunderous crash as all the glass broke in the infirmary.


	7. 6: The Magic Was Stronger

**Chapter 6 – The Magic Was Stronger**

Pulling Xander closer as if to protect the man from his words, Angel started. "Your parents aren't who you think they are."

The dazed, frightened look in Xander's eye receded a little as he smiled bitterly. "That's the best news I've gotten since I woke up in this place." He searched Angel's expression, his smile fading quickly. "But I'm guessing not really, because you don't have 'good news' face on. That's a 'bad news' face if ever I've seen one."

"Yeah." Not for the first time, Angel wished he had Albus's way with words, the old wizard's ability to transform life, messy and painful, into charming stories with beginnings and ends and a moral saying precisely what Albus wished his audience to hear. "Your parents… your biological parents were a witch and a wizard. They were both married to other people, so they sent you away."

"They sent me to die," Xander corrected flatly. "Right? They left me on the Hellmouth because they wanted me to die." Angel couldn't respond. Xander nodded. "Ward and June Cleaver, they ain't."

Angel sighed. Xander had no idea. "You remember when I told you about Grindelwald?"

"You mean, yesterday?" Xander asked sarcastically.

Ignoring the sarcasm, Angel nodded. "Right. Well, about thirty years after Grindelwald came Voldemort. Your parents, uh… they followed him."

Xander's jaw clenched, and he looked away, staring at the wall. "And this Voldemort, he's like Grindelwald was? Evil?" His voice was strained.

"Worse," Angel said bluntly, remembering the books he'd read earlier that morning. "He was… he was much worse."

"Of course," Xander muttered, still staring at the wall. "And his followers? They were…worse, too?" It was clear he knew the answer. "Are they—" He paused, biting his lip. "What happened to them, to him?"

"Voldemort was killed two years ago," Angel answered quietly. He shifted his weight and awkwardly patted Xander's arm. "Your, uh, mother died in the same battle. Your father…" How was he going to explain this?

His hesitation was enough to pull Xander's gaze back, and as Angel met his eye, he thought that Xander had never looked more exhausted. "What about my father?" he asked, his voice flat and emotionless. "He's still alive? Let me guess, he's looking to take over for his old boss?"

He must have read the answer in Angel's face (and who knew Angel would miss the days when Xander thought he had only one expression and couldn't read him at all?), because Xander suddenly laughed, a bitter, humorless sound that made Angel cringe. "'Course he is. And he wants me for some reason, probably some sort of sacrifice or something, right? They always do."

Angel blinked rapidly, trying to figure out when he'd lost control of the conversation, if he ever had it. He should've waited, he decided with the clarity of hindsight—Xander was already upset, why had he thought it was a good idea to tell him everything now?

Right, he hadn't thought at all. He'd seen Xander upset and scared, asking for his help, and he'd jumped into the breach like the bleeding-heart poof Spike always said he was.

He jumped, startled, when Xander snorted at his expression. "At least Tony never actually tried to have me killed, or killed anybody else. The worst he ever did was throw back a few too many and smack me around." More disturbing than his words was the way Xander was speaking: quiet and conversational, as if they were discussing nothing more personal or important than the weather.

"Xander—" Angel said, but Xander cut him off.

"I guess I've spent all these years worrying about the wrong things, huh? All those times I turned down a second beer, hating myself because I wanted to hit someone, God, leaving Anya at the altar—all those times I thought I was becoming like my old man…" Xander trailed off, shaking his head helplessly. "And it turns out I didn't know anything. I have huge, unexplored depths of assholeishness waiting for me. I was scared of becoming like Tony, and I could be someone so much worse."

"Xander," Angel said firmly, forcibly turning the man to face him. "Look at me." For a moment, Xander fought him, twisting in Angel's grip as if to break free, but when their eyes met Xander froze, giving Angel an opportunity to speak.

Angel bit his lip, again wishing he were Dumbledore, wishing he were someone with a talent for words or people. Someone who could make this better.

In the end, all Angel had on his side was the truth.

"You loved Willow enough to die for her, even when she tried to kill you. You've helped to save the world, literally." Seeing Xander open his mouth to speak, Angel hurried on. "Yes, your father is a bad person. Both of them are. That doesn't have anything to do with who you are. You may be built like your father and look just like your mother, but what's inside…" He placed a hand on Xander's chest. "What's inside, that's yours. Your choices, your actions—that's what you own. That's what makes you who you are. No one forced you to fight. It would have been simpler to ignore the darkness. Isn't that what everyone in Sunnydale did? But you couldn't do that. You had to do the right thing; that's who you are. You are nothing like your parents."

Seconds stretched into minutes, while Xander stared at Angel, searching for something Angel didn't understand. When he finally spoke, his voice was flat and bitter. "If that's true, then what's wrong with me? There's something inside me, Angel, that wants…" Seemingly at a loss for words, he shook his head. "I get angry, I feel scared, and I feel like I'm about to turn green and tear things apart." Angel stared, bewildered, which only seemed to agitate him further. "It's like I've got a fucking demon inside me, alright? And it's dark, and it's angry, and it wants _out_. It wants to, to destroy. It wants to kill." He whispered the last, barely able to meet Angel's eyes. "What happens then? What does that make me, huh?"

Angel's eyes narrowed, and he tried not to show his concern. It took years of practicing the darkest arts to taint a wizard's power… or it should. A lifetime bound by a dark spell and living on a Hellmouth, though, might be enough to predispose Xander toward dark and destructive magic, especially accidental magic. It would explain the gruesome results of the attack.

He had told himself to save the rest of the explanations for when Xander was calmer, but how could he calm himself when he was convinced he had some sort of demon time-bomb inside him? "It's magic, just magic," Angel told him, studying him worriedly. "No demon, no, uh, turning green. You're a wizard, Xander. Like Albus, like your parents." Angel winced internally; connecting Xander's magic with his parents was the last thing he wanted to do. He hurried on. "Your power was bound, but the binding was broken."

"No," Xander said unconvincingly. His eye was wide and his expression wounded, as if Angel had struck him. "I'm not a wizard." He trailed off at the end, as if even he didn't believe his words.

Suddenly, Xander straightened, resolved. "Well, then, you've just got to bind it back! Put it the way it was; get rid of it. I've lived this long without any special powers, and hey, I did just fine without them." He looked expectantly at Angel.

Slowly, Angel shook his head, holding Xander's gaze. "We can't," he said softly. "That spell was dark, and dangerous. All permanent bindings are."

"Permanent," Xander scoffed, the slightest hint of hysteria creeping into his tone. "For a permanent binding, it was pretty damn temporary."

"Only in your case," Angel answered tightly. "The circumstances required… you could have just as easily died." The truth of his statement sat, heavy and cold, in his gut, because although Angel had no magical power of his own, he had an instinctive understanding of wizarding magic that had shocked Albus the first time they met. Angel understood magic, light and dark and everything in between, and still he could not explain how Xander emerged alive and whole, with his magic intact.

Xander frowned, giving Angel an odd look, and Angel realized the show of emotion had thrown him. "You could have died," Angel repeated helplessly, unable to find any other words to explain his reaction. "The magic should have killed you."

That, apparently, was the wrong thing to say. "Yeah, well, maybe it should've," Xander agreed, pulling away from Angel.

"Maybe it should've?" Angel repeated incredulously, staring at Xander and wondering where the hell _this_ had come from. His Irish accent so thick it was nearly incomprehensible, he snapped, "What are you thinking, saying such things!" He seized Xander's shoulders, intending to shake some sense into the man, but with a savage twist of his torso, Xander jerked himself out of Angel's grip. For just a second too long, Angel hesitated, and he wasn't quite fast enough to catch Xander before he toppled off the bed, landing in a crouch on the floor out of the vampire's reach.

And the moment Xander slipped from his hands, that beautiful, terrifying connection was gone, the emotions—the humanity—stripped from his mind so brutally Angel spent long moments gasping in pain. It _hurt_, a soul-deep laceration, and he was so preoccupied with the task of existing he was slow to think of Xander.

Too slow.

The moment Xander left Angel's grasp, his feelings attacked, swarming him, choking him.

Too much, it was too much—he didn't know what he was feeling, what he was thinking, and he could feel his magic, that fucking _stupid_ magic, bubbling in his veins and sparking through the air. And this was what he meant, this was what he was talking about when he'd said that maybe the magic should've killed him, because he somehow knew that the power running through his veins was so much darker than anything Willow ever touched, and if his sweet, gentle Willow could be pulled into darkness what chance did Xander, with his newfound legacy of murder, have?

He doubted he could end the world, but individual lives, that was nothing more than snuffing out a candle.

He was scared and he was confused, and then everything merged into anger, a fury that overwhelmed his mind and smothered all those thoughts that were stabbing at his psyche. He didn't need to hurt, didn't need to worry, the magic whispered—not when he could make others hurt instead.

Xander stood slowly, reveling in his strength after several days of weakness. It wasn't until Angel stood and held out a hand that Xander remembered he wasn't alone in the room.

"Xander," Angel murmured before falling silent, clearly at a loss for words, and wasn't that typical? He was good at that, the original Cryptic Guy, dropping bad news in their laps and then vanishing before anyone expected him to say something useful.

The vampire cringed, and damn, Xander wished he knew what expression was on his face because if it got that reaction he needed to use it more often. Even with Angel's hesitation, the outstretched hand never faltered, and when he made to move closer Xander's fury built into a roar that couldn't quite hide the small voices screaming underneath.

A part of him wanted Angel nearby, shouting that the vampire was the only way to stop the coming hurricane. Angel could end this. He could calm the anger before it boiled over, and Xander knew it. The real, normal parts of him wanted that.

But the magic didn't, and the magic was stronger.

The magic wanted out; it wanted to play, and Angel would stop that from happening. So the magic fed the anger, and, as if watching from a great distance, Xander saw himself lazily wave his hand, leaving Angel immobilized and soundless. The angry magic cushioned him, pushing him so deep inside himself he wasn't certain he was really _there_ anymore.

"You're so predictable," Xander snorted, glaring at Angel. "'Don't worry, Xander, we'll figure this out. Everything will be okay.' That's what you were going to say, right? Just some magic, after all, and hey! Not like it's yours."

He spun away, pacing toward the far end of the hospital wing, and the part of him hiding inside burrowed a bit deeper as the beds began to shake, rattling noisily against the floor. "It's always so easy for you, isn't it, Deadboy? Drop in, give a couple hints, mess up someone's life, and then hasta la vista, you're off to let us humans deal with the wreckage.

"You come in all buff and mysterious and ready to save the day, and it's like you care, but you don't, really. Not about people; at least, not about people who aren't Buffy." Xander folded his arms tightly, more defensive than the aggressive motion he had intended. "Your wizard buddies asked you to stop by and help calm down the kid with the freaky mojo, and what the _fuck_ is their problem?" His train of thought jumped tracks without warning, but that was okay—there was plenty of anger to go around.

"They send you in here with stories about magic and families and—and did anybody even ask me if I wanted this? Because, actually, I pretty much had my hands full with one set of parents that hate me." Xander shook his head, and somewhere a chair tipped forward as one of its legs literally exploded into a shower of sawdust.

"They left me," he spat, so angry he could barely breathe. The pitcher on the table beside his hospital bed shattered, and his magic liked that, wanted more—and that scared him, which only made him more angry, which made his magic want more destruction… The windows began to rattle in their frames. "These… wizards, with their wands and their stupid dresses and their weirdo world, they all left me on a fucking Hellmouth without even checking every so often to see if I'd been chomped by a demon. They didn't care until my big bad dad decided I'd make a great sacrifice—which, hey, I've heard before—and even then, they didn't warn me or talk to me! They just _watched_, damnit! They watched while I got attacked, and God, what if some of the girls had been with me?"

Xander's voice rose at the thought of a threat to those he cared about, and all the windows, all the glass in the room shattered. The destruction appeased his rage, allowing terror—and a sense of self—to surface. "Angel," he whimpered, and before he even finished speaking Angel was there, arms around him.

And everything melted away.

Anger, fear, the magic boiling in his bones… it all vanished like waking from a dream. Xander sagged against Angel, trusting the vampire to support him while he gasped for breath and searched for sanity.

"What's wrong with me?" he whispered, clinging to Angel, terrified he might let go and the magic would once more overtake him.

"It'll be okay," Angel murmured, rubbing his back. "We'll figure it out."

It was probably the dumbest thing Angel had ever said, but as unconsciousness pulled him into its welcoming embrace, Xander was content to believe the lie.

_A/N: The next chapter is largely Faith-based (heh, sorry, I couldn't help it). Anybody with a good grasp on her character who wants to help me out, let me know, because I'm not sure I've got her down._


	8. 7: Ask Me No Questions

**_A/N:_** _After the wonderful reviews for last chapter, I'm almost afraid to upload this one! Things are a_ little_ less emotional this time around._

_Next chapter involves a lot of Faith. You might even say it's Faith-based. (Sorry, had to do it.) I would greatly appreciate any help you guys can provide, since I'm not real comfortable writing her._

_That's all. Hope you enjoy!_

* * *

**Chapter 7 – Ask Me No Questions**

Faith, of course, reacted more quickly than anyone else. Before the sound of breaking glass had faded away, Faith was already in the air, aiming a kick at the double doors.

_Christ, that hurt like a bitch!_ Hopping on one foot, she stared at the doors. _Would've gotten more results trying to kick over a damn brick wall. Fucking magic._

Faith paused, glancing about the group. Blondie, Double-D and New Guy already had their wands out—for non-Slayers they were pretty damn fast—and were hurling spells at the doors. Other than a wicked light show (and the sort of power that left her blood singing), they didn't seem to be having any more luck than she did.

Scowling, she looked for Dawnie… and had to smile. Baby Summers was whaling on the doors like they'd insulted her fashion sense, not caring that the only thing taking a beating was her fists. Faith was on her way to join in when the magic washing out of the hospital wing abruptly vanished, and the doors easily opened.

Little D fell on her face when her opponent stopped fighting back, and someone in the magic trio swore as a last spell skittered uselessly across the room. Ignoring them all, Faith bolted inside, senses alert, and found…

Fuck-all. Squared. She'd gotten all hot for a good pummeling, too.

The aftertaste of wild magic, dark and cold, hung over everything, and Faith rubbed her hands against her pants, feeling like she might never again be clean. Light danced crazily across the glass shards littering the ground, and wind whistled through the broken windows, making for a nice post-battle atmosphere. Good thing they were in Scotland, where sunlight was more of a weekly than daily occurrence, since Fang was standing in the middle of the room. He was kind of cradling Xander, who looked to be heading for the un- side of consciousness, and he had a blank look in his eyes that scared the shit out of her.

Cautiousness wasn't her thing, but she gave it her best shot as she crept closer, dimly aware of the others entering the room behind her. "Had the party without me, huh, Fang?" she asked, and even though she tried to sound normal her voice had that 'freaked to all hell' tone going.

Angel blinked at her, like he'd just noticed she was in the room. "Faith? I don't…" He took a step toward her and stumbled. Her freak level slid up another notch (and not in the good way), as she reached out to steady him, only to be shoved away so roughly anyone else would've been tossed across the room. "Don't touch him!" he snapped, something desperate clinging to his words. "He needs me!" He held out a hand in a gesture that could've been threatening, if he hadn't been weaving on his feet as he did it.

"Alright," Faith agreed, holding both hands up in surrender. The lights might have been on for Fang, but nobody seemed to be home. "Not gonna touch him, okay? How about you both lie down over there," she suggested. "I think Xan's tired."

"Yeah. Tired. He took… I'm tired," Angel blurted, sounding surprised. "We're tired." She shadowed him as he hauled Xander back to his hospital bed and unceremoniously dumped the man, shoving him over to the side and dropping onto the empty space. Within the space of a breath, he was asleep, curled protectively around Xander's unconscious form.

Faith sighed explosively, studying the boys with her hands on her hips. Whatever happened was done now, and her extensive experience mojo overload told her nobody would be getting answers from those two for at least a day, maybe two. She spun around to face the others.

Draco was right behind her, so close she nearly smacked him with an elbow as she turned. He hastily backed off, absently mumbling an apology, but it was obvious most of his attention was on the couple lying in bed. A scuffle drew her attention toward the door, and Faith saw New Guy—what was his name? Larry? Harry? Hottie?—let go of Dawn.

Faith snorted. "Wondered what kept you, Little D." Dawn stuck her tongue out at her, and Faith was about to reciprocate when she was distracted by the other person in the room.

Albus Dumbledore was standing placidly near Draco, an aura of smug satisfaction nearly oozing from him. The moment he felt her gaze on him, he changed to a more appropriately concerned expression, but not before Faith recognized the cunning glint in his eyes. She lifted her chin, pinning him with a hard stare. "Oh, Double-D," she said silkily, "have we gotta talk."

Harry edged forward, his wand held tensely at his side. After watching Slayers from afar during the Order's surveillance of Xander, he had thought he understood. He had seen those girls fight; he knew what they could do.

Or, he thought he did. He was starting to realize he didn't know anything at all.

He hadn't understood why the wizarding world feared Slayers. They fought for good, and until recently had done so all alone. One girl in all the world, against seemingly unbeatable enemies… Harry understood that. Who cared where their power came from? It was like judging Remus or Hagrid just because of what they were, and Harry hated people who did that.

But a Slayer wasn't just strength and speed. The woman glaring at Dumbledore wasn't merely the Faith that had flirted with him in the hallway. There was a predator in her, dangerous and dark, and Harry could see it in her eyes.

He prayed Dumbledore saw it as well. He was pretty sure the Slayer would not react well to manipulation.

"It's okay," a voice whispered beside him. Harry turned to see Dawn watching him, an understanding light in her eyes. How long did it take, he wondered, for her to believe that? "It's still Faith," she added.

Harry knew enough about Faith to know that wasn't much reassurance.

Dawn grabbed his hand, not coincidentally the one holding his wand, and dragged him closer to the bed. "You guys should go talk," she announced. "We'll sit with the boys."

"I don't know," Faith said mildly, tilting her head in thought. "Might want to stay near the hospital wing for old Dumbles, here."

"Faith," Dawn said, her voice flat. She didn't say anything else.

Faith nodded. "C'mon, Double-D, time for a little parent-teacher conference."

Draco, of course, couldn't quite stifle a snort. "Must you provide such abhorrent metaphors?" he asked in disdain.

Faith turned and glared for a long moment before, to Harry's bewilderment, her face shifted into a smirk. "You're all right."

"Ohmigod, go!" Dawn snapped, throwing her hands in the air and stalking over to sit on the bed next to Xander and Angel, pulling Harry in her wake. With her free hand, she pointed first at Faith, then Dumbledore. "You, make him talk. But not here. Somewhere you won't risk waking sick people when the ass-kicking starts."

Harry was careful not to smile as Dumbledore's cheerful air dimmed at her words; instead, he nodded at the old wizard, a wordless assurance that he would stay close, just in case. "You," Dawn continued, turning to Draco, "well… you, just go someplace that's away, okay?"

Draco raised an eyebrow. "I'm going with them."

That was no surprise to Harry, but he was sure Faith wouldn't like it. Much to his shock, the Slayer gave Draco a long, hard look before nodding. "Right. Let's go. Lead on, Double-D."

Harry blinked. Yeah, he didn't know Slayers at all.

Once the doors closed behind the unlikely trio of Slayer, Headmaster, and Xander's brother, Dawn breathed a sigh of relief. If she wasn't actually there, she reasoned, she couldn't be held responsible for Faith.

It was too bad she would miss for the show, though. Dawn was hoping Faith taught Dumbledore a lesson, slayer-style. Personally, she was rooting for the method to be an atomic wedgie.

But that wasn't important. Faith would do whatever she wanted (as usual), and Dawn wasn't at Hogwarts to babysit her—no matter how it felt. She was there for someone else altogether.

Forgetting her audience, Dawn made a beeline for the hospital bed holding Xander and Angel.

"Hey, Xan," she murmured, brushing hair out of his eyes, "not to judge or anything, but this is probably the weirdest thing that's ever happened to you. And I'm including Anya."

"Anya?" a voice asked curiously, and Dawn let out a strangled yelp as she spun around. "Oh! Right. Hi," she said breathlessly, searching her memory for the man's name. "Um. Harry, is it?"

Harry nodded, his ridiculously green eyes sparkling behind equally ridiculous glasses. Faith was right, Dawn had to admit; Harry was a yummy piece of eye candy. "You're Dawn Summers, I believe?" he asked politely, and she nodded.

"Yep! Dawn, that's me." She plopped into the chair next to Harry. "I thought you guys knew us already, or was it just Xander you were spying on?" She had learned from Buffy that accusations were all the more jarring when delivered as sweetly as possible.

Harry blushed (and damn, even that was cute). "It wasn't- We weren't listening to your conversations or anything like that," he protested. "Not most of the time, anyway."

"What?" Dawn squeaked, hearing her voice go into that register reserved for when she was truly pissed. "You mean, sometimes you _were_ listening to us? When? Ohmigod, were you _watching_, too? What did you see? Was it—"

Fortunately for Harry, the doors swung open and an older woman entered. Dawn immediately fell quiet, shooting him a fulminating glare before turning toward the woman.

"Minerva," Harry said brightly, sounding more than a little relieved. "I assume you heard?"

The woman ignored that question-and really, the answer was obvious even to Dawn-as she moved close to the bed, waving her wand over the two men. Dawn tensed, but did nothing to stop her (as if she could).

Minerva finished her wand waving with a satisfied murmur. "Poppy was unavailable, so the Headmaster requested I examine the boys," she explained. "They both appear to be suffering from exhaustion caused by magical overload."

"Both?" Dawn asked suspiciously. "I thought Angel didn't have any magic."

Harry gave Minerva a trapped look, but Minerva's gaze was firmly on Dawn, something almost triumphant in her eyes. "He doesn't," she said simply.

Dawn blinked. "Then how—"

"That is for Alexander or Angel to tell, Miss Summer." Apparently that settled the matter, as Minerva extended a hand, giving Dawn a thin-lipped smile. "Minerva McGonagall. I am the deputy Headmistress for Hogwarts."

"It's nice to meet you," Dawn said politely, even if she wasn't sure it was completely true.

Minerva nodded in response. "If you will excuse me, I am needed elsewhere," she said, before sweeping toward the exit.

_Hmph. Rude! _"Well. Bye!" Dawn chirped, as irritating as she could be. Minerva gone, she turned back to Harry. "So, if you won't tell me how Angel overloaded on magic he doesn't actually have, will you tell me more about Xander's real family? His brother—that _was_ his brother, right?—doesn't look anything like him."

Harry's pretty eyes hardened at the mention of Xander's family. "Harris looks like his mother," he said, his voice suddenly flat and cold. "Draco looks like his father."

Taken aback by his tone, Dawn paused. "Um. Oh. Oh God, you know his parents, don't you." It wasn't a question. "Dumbledore said it was his father that…" She trailed off.

"Sent wizards to kidnap him? Yeah." Harry, apparently, was not inclined to mince words when it came to Lucius Malfoy. Even if he was creeping her out, Dawn was cool with that—it meant she might actually learn something.

"You've fought against them," Dawn guessed.

Harry smiled thinly. He wasn't looking as innocent and yummy as he had a moment before. "Something like that." He took a deep breath, and all the emotion seemed to wash out of his face, leaving him perfectly blank.

Dawn had never seen anyone do that, not even Angel, and she felt a trickle of unease down her spine. Still, as long as he was answering questions, she would keep asking them. "Is his mom fighting with his dad? Dumbledore didn't really mention her." Dawn had entertained hopes that Xander's mother, while not exactly parent of the year, might be someone Xander could get to know. Her hopes were dashed by Harry's reply.

"His mum's dead. She died in the last battle, right beside Voldemort."

Dawn bit her lip, and pushed a little harder. "Oh. Are you sure?"

That terrible, hard smile appeared once more. "More than anyone else alive."

She didn't want to know, really, she didn't… but she knew she would ask anyway. "What does that mean?"

The smile vanished. "It means I killed her, right before I killed her master," Harry said levelly. "Any other questions?"

Dawn could feel her eyes growing comically large as she shrank back from the man beside her. "Nope. Maybe we should just be quiet for a while."

The strange, brittle anger vanished, and Harry looked almost ashamed of himself and terribly, terribly sorry. He opened his mouth to speak, before he seemed to think better of it. "Right," he said quietly. "Capital idea."

Dawn lost track of the time, sitting with Harry and watching over Xander and Angel. Time misbehaved, rushing past as she sat in thought, and before it occurred to her to remember how tired she was after all that had happened that day, her eyelids were drooping. She slid smoothly into sleep between one breath and the next, and did not feel Harry levitating her into the bed beside her friends. She did not see him cover her with a blanket, and did not hear him whisper, "It's not just a story. When you kill a man… it's not just a story."

And if Dawn had been awake, she could have told him that of all the truths in the world, this was one she understood all too well. She could have told him that everyone she loved had at least a little blood on their hands.

But Dawn didn't wake, even though Harry stayed by their side, a silent sentinel, until nightfall.


	9. 8: I'll Tell You No Lies

**Chapter 8 – I'll Tell You No Lies**

They made the walk to the Headmaster's office in silence. Dumbledore led the way with his surprisingly long stride, while Faith managed to keep pace without breaking out of a sultry strut. Draco, of course, trailed them both rather than having anyone at his back.

The gargoyle jumped out of their way as they approached, and Faith eyed it suspiciously as they entered the stairwell. Her hands were clenched in fists at her sides, and Draco suddenly realized that, for all her jokes and innuendo, she was uneasy being here, in a world she did not know or understand.

Scared or not, he knew she could tear him to pieces without breaking a sweat. That flash of anxiety, though, lived right alongside the Slayer, and he liked her all the better for the dichotomy.

Draco heard a phoenix cry the moment the office door opened. Dumbledore strode inside immeditately, but Faith paused, head tilted in wonderment. "What is that?" she breathed.

Draco grinned, feeling brighter and cleaner with every chirp. "It's Fawkes." Another, louder chirp, as close to a squawk as a phoenix could get, had him laughing. "Go on," he urged, waving her toward the door. "He wants to meet you."

As soon as she was inside, Fawkes flew over to her to perch on her arm, claws digging heavily into the bare skin. If she felt any pain, Faith didn't show it. Her face as she stared at the phoenix reflected a childlike joy, and Draco realized that she was not as much older than him as she liked to pretend.

After a long moment, Fawkes let out a small, warbling cry, as if to end the conversation. As he flew back to his perch, Faith threw herself into the nearest chair, landing with one leg over the side. "Let's get to it," she drawled. It was clear she was aiming for her usual brash tone, but the interlude with Fawkes had left her too raw to be successful. Underneath the bravado was a weariness too strong to ignore.

Draco slowly sank into the chair beside her, aware he was staring in a most unbecoming manner yet not quite able to stop. A quick glance from Faith, her mouth curling up at the edges, was the only sign she had noticed before her focus was back on the man slowly seating himself behind the desk.

"Look, all that Angel-Xander shit, I don't care about that. They'll tell me when they're damn good and ready. Long as it's helping and not hurting, what they do in their little hospital bed is their business." She hesitated, pursing her lips. "But that was some seriously black magick we walked in on, and, Dumbles, you gotta give me an answer on that. Red and B find the boy letting loose with that evil mojo and we're going to have problems."

She shivered; without thinking he transfigured his handkerchief into a shawl and stood to drape it around her shoulders. She shot to her feet at his approach, and they froze for a long moment, the wizard with hand outstretched and the slayer tensed for attack.

Faith broke the standoff with a surprisingly soft smile. "Thanks," she said sheepishly, seeming entirely disarmed by the concept of common manners.

Not for the first time, Draco thought to himself that, one way or another, he was unlikely to survive this visit from his brother and friends. He inclined his head, retreating into formality. "You are quite welcome." Then, because sometimes curiosity could be tolerated no longer, he added, "Erm, can you clarify on what you were saying before?"

A wicked light danced in her eyes, and for a moment he thought she would make him repeat 'evil mojo' before continuing, but she relented. "Me? Nah, I've got nothin' to add. But Dumbles, here," she added, turning toward him with a positively predatory look, "he's got the goods and he's gonna spill."

"Am I?" Dumbledore lightly inquired, peering at Faith over the rims of his glasses.

In reply, Faith bared her teeth; not even Dumbledore could consider that a smile. "I've been playing nice, Double-D. I've been so goddamned good I've got enough bad saved up for a real fun time." She winked at Draco, shifting provocatively, and he lost track of the conversation for a moment. He pulled his brain back into gear in time to hear her growl, "a Slayer, for fuck's sake, and tell me if that evil shit is in him or just in his magic!"

Draco blinked. "What? Magic isn't evil," he said, bewildered.

Faith gave him a disgusted look. "You're lucky you're pretty as hell," she commented. Draco gave Albus a pleading look, but the elderly wizard chose to remain silent, watching with bright, amused eyes. "Here's the sitch, Blondie, you listening this time? Because I only give three-peats to very good boys."

With a force of pure will, Draco ignored the last comment and nodded. Faith rewarded him with a genuine smile that nearly erased all his hard-earned focus. "Us Slayers, we all get different gifts out of the grab bag, you know? B, she's wicked fast in a fight, but she's couldn't sense a vamp more than about a block away."

She smirked at Dumbledore. "Don't think you knew that. I saw you when B and Red announced they couldn't head out, that relieved look you pretended not to have. You thought they were the most likely to notice, but here's the thing, blue eyes." Without breaking her stare, she leaned forward and grabbed a lemon drop, tossed it into her mouth. "You got something you're hiding? I'm the one to worry about."

All flirtation was now gone from her voice—the Slayer, at work. "I could tell you how many demons you got on the premises—and you _do_ have demons on the premises. I could tell that Greasy, back in the nurse's wing, he's done more than dance with the darkness." She glanced at Draco. "You've had a tango or two, but nothing like that. Greasy, he could be seriously bad, if he wanted; you're not there. Yet." Draco wondered if he should be insulted.

Crossing her arms, Faith turned back to the Headmaster. "And you, you're powerful as fuck but you like to think you can hide it. For all the goodness and light you put out there, you're not exactly all sunshine and puppies, either."

"No," Dumbledore said quietly, "no, I'm not." Draco could not tell if that was meant as a threat or a statement of fact, but Faith merely nodded.

"I can feel the darkness in my own soul. I feel the demon within Angel's. I didn't have to be there to know Red tried to end the world, you get what I'm sayin'?" She leaned forward, her eyes intent on Dumbledore. "I know what evil feels like, and that's what I felt in that room just now. And that's not Xander."

Her conviction fell away on the last sentence, and Draco swallowed, audible in the ensuing silence. "That's _not_ Xander," she repeated, but even Draco could tell she did not quite believe that.

As usual, Dumbledore stepped in with a dose of the obvious. "At this moment, we cannot say for certain of what Mr. Harris is capable. His circumstances are so unusual that any comparison is academic at best."

"You didn't bring him here to protect him," Faith murmured. Her face was so blank Draco could not guess her thoughts. "You brought him here, what, to control him? Study him like some sort of Frankenstein?"

"To teach him," Dumbledore said gently, so intent on Faith Draco thought he might have forgotten anyone else was in the room. "And, yes, to protect him as well as ourselves. We have one dark lord too many as it is, and your Xander is closer to another than you can possibly comprehend."

Faith jumped up, shawl floating, forgotten, to the floor. "Yeah? Why don't you tell me what I ought to be 'comprehending' then, huh? Because unless you've got a damn good reason, nobody puts a Scooby in a cage." She paused, before snorting. "Or in a corner."

Stung by the accusation, Draco finally spoke. "He is not in a cage. And if he were, it would be for his own sake." He held up a hand when Faith looked to speak. "I was there when he was attacked. Do you _know_ what he did to those men, those powerful wizards? He'll never forgive himself, if he finds out. I've served two dark lords, but I've never…" Draco faltered. "There was so much blood, and he didn't even _mean to_… I tried, I tried to stop him, but he didn't hear me, and… there was so much blood." Despite himself, his voice cracked on the last word. He continued, soft as a whisper. "What if he did something to you? What would he prefer, Faith? Your blood or his cage?"

"Enough, Draco," Dumbledore scolded lightly, though he seemed pleased with the effect Draco's speech had on Faith, who slowly sank back into her seat, staring into space. "Miss Lehane," he continued, rising from behind his desk to stand before the slayer. "Faith," he amended, taking her hand in both of his. "I know you haven't a reason to do so, but I ask you, please—trust us. Permit us to protect your friend."

Faith roused herself enough to pull her hand from his grasp. "Do I have a choice?" she asked, subdued.

"My dear girl, we always have choices," Dumbledore assured her. From behind the Headmaster, Draco rolled his eyes. Always had choices, sure. The old man never said they were _good_ ones.

* * *

Faith was wrong about how long the recovery would take.

It was late that same evening when Angel opened his eyes to find a single brown eye staring back at him. Angel blinked.

"You're probably expecting a wig out of epic proportions," Xander said conversationally, making no effort to extricate himself from his current position sprawled across Angel's chest. "And yeah, the freaking may be predictable, but it's a classic for a reason." He propped himself up and looked pointedly down at Angel's chest. "This deserves a freak out, right? But the thing is," he sighed, meeting Angel's bewildered gaze. "I just can't get my freak on." He blushed. "Metaphorically! I can't get my metaphorical—nope, that doesn't make it sound any better."

"Um," Angel answered intelligently. "How are you feeling?"

Something softened in Xander's expression, but before he could reply another voice cut in. "Yes, how are you both feeling?"

In unison, their heads swung toward the speaker. "Did you know he was there?" Xander asked Angel without turning from the man sitting beside their bed.

"I did not," Angel admitted, a bit shamefaced. He should have noticed another person in the room. "Have we met?"

The man grimaced, looking embarrassed. "Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you." He leaned forward, offering a hand first to Xander, then Angel. "I'm Harry Potter. I've been, well, keeping watch in case you—"

"Lost it again?" Xander filled in.

"Needed assistance," Harry countered.

"Harry Potter," Angel murmured. He looked different than Angel had pictured from hearing Minerva's story. Her Harry had been lost, lonely, and very, very young. The man before him was the result of that story. His life had been difficult, yes, but it had made Harry terribly—

"Strong," Xander blurted. "You feel strong."

Angel looked at Xander, surprised. Xander widened his eye. "I don't know where that came from," he said, confused. "I just… _feel_ it."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "That's a good sign," he said approvingly.

"A good sign of what?" Xander demanded.

"You're developing an awareness of those around you," Harry explained. "It means you're developing a subconscious control of aspects of your magic."

Xander shrugged. "At least I have something under control." He paused, pulling himself into a sitting position, matter-of-factly man-handling Angel until they were both positioned to his satisfaction, with Xander nestled into Angel's side. It was only after they were situated that Xander froze, seeming to realize what he had been doing. He bit his lip, glancing at Angel, then Harry, and back again. "Angel?"

Angel exchanged a look with Harry. "Yes, Xander?"

"I'm feeling some freakage coming. Definite wiggins hitting over here." Angel automatically pulled Xander closer, only to be batted away. "Not helping!" Angel winced, oddly hurt. He pulled back, only to have Xander tug him closer again.

"Would you make up your mind?" Angel exploded, reaching his own limit.

"I can't!" Xander snapped, balling his fists in Angel's shirt. "Three months ago I barely thought of you! Then you're suddenly the main star of my dreams—not in _that_ way, not that there's anything wrong with that, I mean you're a very buff man and that's not what I meant to say, what I meant to say is, you're my wizarding security blanket and I don't know why!"

Angel paused, searching for a response. "You think I'm buff?"

Harry cleared his through. "Not to interrupt, but I might be able to provide some explanation. Or, at least, what I think is the explanation," he amended.

Xander brightened. "Please? We love explanations. I adore explanations. Why, just last week I was saying to Willow, you know what I love?"

"Xander," Angel interrupted tiredly. "How about we let him speak?" Proving himself a hypocrite, Angel couldn't help but add, "It has something to do with the way his magic manifested, right?"

Looking mildly surprised, Harry nodded. "That's what I think." Focusing on Xander, he said, "My friend Hermione would be better at this, but I'll try my best. Wizarding children, their magic grows up with them. There are occasional flare-ups of accidental magic, but since our magic matures as we do, we learn to control it as we go along."

"It's like the slayers," Angel added. "When they are first Called, they don't know their own strength."

Harry nodded. "Yes. But at least they have lifetimes of experience with their bodies; it's just a matter of accustoming to stronger muscles. You, erm, have a muscle you've never used before and it's as strong as if you had spent your life exercising it. You don't know your own strength and you never learned how to, to temper it." He glanced pointedly at Angel. "You needed help, someone with experience controlling the uncontrollable, like a bloodthirsty demon." He smiled bitterly. "That, or it's happening because it was prophesied."

Angel cringed, knowing what Xander's reaction would be. He wasn't disappointed.

_"Prophesied?"_

Harry hesitated, glancing around the room, before shrugging with a distinctly fatalistic air. "How much has Albus told you?"

* * *

Severus entered his rooms to the scent of tea, and not his standard Earl Grey, but a lighter aroma of peppermint he associated with a single person. Pausing for a moment just inside the door, he shook his head and sighed. "I must find a more loyal portrait," he murmured under his breath.

She was seated at the small table in his kitchenette, just as he had expected, her posture a shade more relaxed than was normal as she cradled a cup of tea in both hands. Without a glance in her direction, he sat across from her, taking the cup she had set out for him and serving himself. Only after the first sip did he speak, staring at the table. "Breaking into my rooms, Minerva? I would have expected that from Albus, not you."

Minerva hid her smirk behind her teacup. "I did nothing of the sort. Your portrait let me in."

"Yes, well, it is unseemly to take advantage of the weak-minded, be they human or paint-based," Severus said darkly.

Minerva raised her eyebrows. "Had you not been avoiding me, 'twould not have been necessary to stoop to such levels."

He finally met her eyes, the better to scowl at her. "Why waste our time with a conversation when we both know how it will go?" Severus loathed pointlessness, particularly when it placed him at odds with one of the few people of whom he was genuinely fond. Their friendship had been greatly tried by his antipathy toward Potter the younger; he did not wish to see it founder against the opposing forces of his heritage and her relationship with the vampire.

Minerva merely looked at him, flat and steady and so sodding obstinate that he heaved a sigh of defeat. "He is an enemy of my people."

"It is not that simple. _You_ are not that simple," Minerva replied, her voice oddly gentle. "You have never been one for inherited dogma or irrational grudges." She hesitated, then continued in little more than a whisper. "You have never countenanced hypocrisy."

The truth in her soft-spoken words stung more than any shouted accusation. Severus slammed his cup onto the tabletop, uncaring of the mess as tea slopped over the edge. "Who are you to judge me?" he snapped. "What gives you the right to speak of hypocrisy?"

He felt a surge of vindictive glee as she paled, seeming to age before his eyes. "I am not a hypocrite," she murmured, lifting her chin. "I have been a liar, a coward, a killer, a fool. But I have never been a hypocrite."

He supposed she was correct, at least for the Gryffindor standard of hypocrisy (in which it only seemed to count when done consciously). "What would you have me do?" he asked wearily. "I agreed to help the son and so I shall. I want Lucius stopped as much as anyone."

Minerva leaned forward, catching his gaze and holding it. For a moment, he was eleven years old and she was showing him how to turn a match into a needle. He blinked, and was a man once more, having tea with a friend. "I want you to curse him," she said bluntly.

Incredulous, Severus raised his eyebrows and shook his head. "I beg your pardon?"

Minerva's eyes crinkled with amusement, but her mouth stayed a firm, thin line. "Curse him," she repeated. "The vampire, man, not the boy! You want to punish him, do it right, as your ancestors did not manage to do." She stood up, cleaning her teacup with a swish of her wand. "We both know that a curse so easily broken is scarcely a curse at all."

Having said her piece, she headed for the door to give him time to think. Severus smirked to himself—she thought she knew him so well. "Minerva." She paused at the door and turned, eyebrow raised inquisitively. "Do you ask for him, or yourself?"

Minerva looked away, over his shoulder and into the past. "I owe him a debt," she said quietly. "One I can never repay. If you cannot understand my fondness, perhaps you can understand that."

He felt a phantom twinge where the Dark Mark used to be, and clenched his hand into a fist. "You would speak to me of debts?" he breathed.

"No," Minerva said softly. "No, I would not."

Before he could find words for a reply, she left him alone with his tea and regrets.

* * *

The night was full of regrets.

The Order had made a mistake, one that would haunt Xander for the rest of his life. Xander was gone; what more could Lucius want from the others? Slayers could not be used against their will—they could throw off Imperius like a splash of cold water.

Xander was gone, but the next best thing remained. Where his loved ones dwelled, Lucius had an invitation Xander couldn't refuse.

The cops in Cleveland were slow to respond, to this house in particular. By the time they arrived, nothing remained but the echo of Buffy's screams.


	10. 9: Searching for Civility

**Chapter 9 - Searching for Civility**

"Lyra?" Buffy called up the stairs. She exchanged an amused smile with Giles. "We're going to make some popcorn and watch a movie… sure you don't want to come down?"

Faint rustling sounds, combined with a sulky female voice, emanated from above, so Buffy, grinning, strode over to the microwave. From the living room, Giles raised his eyebrows as he watched her start the popcorn. "Will we have the pleasure of her presence?" he asked mildly.

While not exactly grounded, Lyra was currently on a two-week Slaying hiatus (or "Slaycation", as the practice had become known over Giles's vociferous protests) due to her role in the latest love spell debacle. Willow's student (the one who actually cast the spell) had the opposite punishment; she was out watching the slayers patrol until she understood that magic had serious consequences on a Hellmouth.

Although her sprained ankle from the night before was barely twinging, Buffy wasn't protesting the rare opportunity to spend some quality time with her favorite Watcher while the rest of the house was out. In a single move, she jumped the back of the couch and landed softly beside Giles. "Nope, still pouting." She lowered her voice and poked him in the side. "C'mon, say it… You know I was never this bad!"

"You were never this bad," Giles recited obediently. He waited for Buffy's celebratory fist-pump before adding, "You were worse."

"What?" Buffy squawked, shoving Giles—then hauling him back onto the sofa when he nearly toppled over from her strength. "Whoops. Sorry about that. But I thought you said my teenage self was broodier than the drama queen in there."

"I heard that!" wafted downstairs, and Buffy winced.

"Sorry, Lyra," she bellowed.

Giles pinched the bridge of his nose. "Buffy. She heard you when you were speaking normally."

Buffy blinked innocently at him. "Yeah, so?"

"So…" Giles glanced over in time to catch a smirk, and he rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes, very funny. I expect a modicum of respect in my dotage, when teenage screeching has left me all but deaf."

"Aw, we'll never stop respecting you," Buffy said cheerfully.

"Yes, but will you ever _start_?"

Eyes sparkling, Buffy opened her mouth in mock-outrage—and went still, a snake waiting to strike. Giles, no fool, followed her lead, waiting, motionless, for a hint as to what had his Slayer so suddenly spooked.

"Down!" Buffy shouted, diving at him a split second before the front door exploded inward, shards of wood raining about the room. She darted across the room with inhuman speed, twisting impossibly to avoid the spells flying at her, and grabbed a sword (ordinarily decorative) from above the mantle. The action paused, the men piling into the room hesitating at her bloodthirsty smile. "You wanna give me a name before we dance?" she asked breathlessly.

"Ah, the original Slayer," a cultured voice drawled into the silence as the crowd of wizards parted to let a single man through. He eyed her up and down. "I must say… I expected someone taller."

Buffy snorted. "_So_ far from original, dye job. Or should I say, padre de Xander?" She grinned to herself—that Spanish class was totally working better than French had!

The man bowed elegantly, his eyes never leaving hers. "Miss Summers. And Mr. Giles, I believe?"

Ignoring Buffy's claims that he was out with the patrol, Giles stood from his position behind the sofa. "I would say it's a pleasure, Mr. Malfoy, but I don't enjoy lying," he said dryly.

Malfoy chuckled. "I'm afraid the pleasure is most assuredly all mine, Rupert." He snapped a finger, and one of the men shouted, "_Stupefy!_" Too far away to assist, Buffy watched in horror as Giles went down hard, hitting the coffee table on the way. Once on the floor, he did not move.

Buffy slowly lifted her gaze from her Watcher to her tormentor. "You shouldn't have done that," she said coldly, her eyes black and dangerous. "I was gonna let you go with minimum bloodshed, but we're talking 'not safe for children' levels, now."

"Oh, my dear girl," Malfoy said in an absurdly patient tone of voice. "The blood shed will not be mine."

Buffy shifted into motion before he finished speaking, flipping herself over a small end table and transferring her motion into a strong kick before she hit the ground. Malfoy flew back and hit the wall. He did not come up swinging.

Without pausing, she grabbed the next closest man as a human shield, feeling him go limp as several spells hit him. She heard Lyra—damnit, Lyra!—scream once, then go silent, but Buffy couldn't see the small Slayer among the robed men. Suddenly, she heard an odd _pop_, and an arm came around her throat, holding her long enough for the man to whisper, "_Mobilicorpus_."

Buffy hit the ground, knocking her head hard enough to see stars for a moment. When everything cleared, Lucius Malfoy stood over her. Carefully placing himself in her field of vision, he smiled victoriously, ignoring the blood streaming from his temple. "As you said, my dear, you should not have done that." He waved his wand and Buffy felt a tickle in her throat. "A small spell of my own invention—I do so love to hear the screams."

Buffy opened her mouth to reply before he cut her off. "_Crucio!"_

No weapons, no friends, no hope. Take all that away, and what's left?

Only Buffy remained. Buffy and the pain.

* * *

A bit of entertainment.

That was what Lucius had described. _Come, boy, I've gathered the fellows for a bit of entertainment._ Draco (stupid, stupid Draco) had hoped for a dinner, perhaps a concert.

Once upon a time, Malfoys had been civilized. Even when his father had served Voldemort, torture had been an indelicate procedure Lucius endured rather than enjoyed.

So Draco had expected music, though he should have known better. Yes, Malfoys had been civilized, but that was before Azkaban, before the Dark Lord's death, before the Ministry seized the Malfoy estate and Narcissa died by her own hand.

Sanity and civility… for a Malfoy, they went hand in hand. (What that meant for Draco, he preferred not to consider.)

_A bit of entertainment,_ Lucius said, but Draco wasn't amused. Horrified by his own helplessness, he stood with his fellows, watching as his father tortured the Slayer. He was not prone to melodramatic declarations, but he was certain Buffy Summer's screams would never leave his ears.

He'd heard such screams before, had even been the one holding the wand, but for Merlin's sake, the woman was a Slayer! _The_ Slayer, even, and his father had her under Cruciatus like a common Muggle.

In a world teeming with dragons and unicorns, the Slayer was nearly a myth to the average wizard. Born to fight and destined to die, she was almost sacred.

There had to be a special level of Hell waiting for Lucius, and another one for Draco for failing to stop him.

Long after the average human would be dead, Summers' screams finally died down and her flailing took a different, achingly familiar rhythm. Her body was no longer fighting, and her mind wouldn't be far behind.

Injecting a calm he did not feel into his voice, Draco stepped forward. "Father. Father!"

Lucius stopped the spell and stared at the gasping woman for a long, ominous moment before he turned to face his son. "I am rather busy at the moment," he said, not completely hiding his irritation. "What is it?"

The others shrank away from Draco, leaving him alone to face Lucius' wrath. Internally, Draco rolled his eyes. _Cowards._ "She must be insane at this point," he said, thinking quickly. "Don't you think we should let her be found in this state? It would send a strong message, I believe."

Lucius smiled. "An admirable idea." Rather than being relieved, this sign of approval left Draco with a knot of resigned anticipation in his gut. "However, I do not mean to leave anything to be found."

He raised his wand. Draco was searching his mind for an argument that would stop his father, when the remains of the shattered door splintered further as Albus Dumbledore apparated into the entranceway, followed by a dozen of his comrades.

For a single beat, both sides stared at each other. From his place beside Giles, Lucius seized the stunned man and apparated away without a single word, followed by his men.

When Draco left, he "forgot" to take the Slayer with him. He could not tell if he acted from cowardice, or from mercy.

As his father turned toward him, grey eyes flashing, Draco decided that it did not matter. For once in his blood-soaked, regret-filled life, he had made the civilized choice.

* * *

For a long moment, Xander could not tell what had woken him. He vaguely remembered falling asleep sometime after his (very manly) temper tantrum about the prophecy, then nothing until now. From the deathly still weight against his side, he discerned that Angel was asleep, and the hospital wing was dark, the only illumination the flickering candlelight from the sconces.

A loud whisper provided a clue, and he sat up, unconsciously holding Angel's hand to his chest. If he squinted through the dim infirmary lighting, he could make out two woman huddled over a bed at the opposite end of the room.

"…not responding to the calming potion," he made out. "…metabolism too fast for…"

The words faded into a steady mumble, and Xander relaxed, laying back. He was almost asleep again when he heard the sound that had originally awakened him.

A moan, a soft, pained, familiar sound. He knew that sound and he knew that voice.

"Buffy," he gasped, rolling out of bed and landing painfully on the stone floor. He whimpered, terrified, as magic began building.

"Xander!" Angel sat up the moment Xander fell off the bed, and rolled (far more gracefully) to crouch beside him.

Driven by an instinct he still did not wholly understand, Xander threw himself in Angel's arms, sighing in relief as the magic faded. "Angel," he breathed, taking comfort in the embrace for a long moment before he remembered. "Angel!" he exclaimed, leaning back far enough to see Angel's face without letting go completely. "It's Buffy, she's here and she's hurt."

Xander tried to stand, but his legs felt as strong as wet noodles. Angel solved the problem by neatly scooping him up and carrying him across the room. Manly, it wasn't, but Xander would deal with being carried like a baby when he had the capacity to do so—he figured that would be in approximately eight months and ten days, give or take an hour.

"Who the hell are you?" Angel demanded roughly of the tall, curly-haired woman standing at Buffy's bedside. The other woman murmured in surprise and hurried away. "Where's Albus? What the hell happened?"

The woman straightened, looking Angel in the eye. "Sit down," she said firmly. "We'll explain when we have time."

It was then that Xander realized the woman had her wand out and trained on Buffy. He started struggling to get down so vigorously that Angel almost dropped him before Xander gave it up as a lost cause. "What are you doing to her?" he asked. His attempt at a strong, demanding tone came out more like a tiny whisper. Xander added that to his "worry later" list.

The woman's gaze softened somewhat when she turned to Xander, probably out of pity. "I'm trying to keep her sedated," she explained. "Your friend burns through a _stupefy_ in minutes, and attacks as soon as she is awake." She pointed at her eye, which Xander realized was swollen shut. "Unless…" she said slowly, giving Xander a speculative look, "can you keep her calm the next time she comes to?"

Xander hesitated, staring at the woman. "Who are you?" he blurted.

The woman smiled, her eyes warm and friendly. "My name's Hermione," she said easily. "I'm a friend of Harry—I believe you met him earlier." She leaned forward slightly and added, "I'm trying to help your friend; she's in some pain right now, but if she can stop fighting and rest naturally she'll be fine."

"Hermione," Xander repeated. _My friend Hermione would be better at this._ Hermione met his gaze without blinking.

"Yes. And you are Angel, and he is Xander." Her patience seemed to be rapidly running out. "And this is Buffy, who is about to wake."

Xander tugged at Angel's shirtsleeve. "I can stand," he said unconvincingly. Angel sighed, but put him down, carefully arranging himself to take most of Xander's weight. Xander rolled his eyes. "Much better."

Buffy began to stir, and Xander leaned closer, trusting Angel to help him keep his balance. "Hey Buff, it's me, Xan. Wanna wake up for us? You're not going to believe this place."

She continued to shift restlessly about the bed. "Xander?" she whispered, her eyes still closed. "Hurts."

"I know it does," Xander said. He reached out to take her hand but was intercepted by Hermione, who shook her head.

"Touch makes it worse," she murmured.

_What the fuck?_ Xander wanted nothing better than to rant and rave, but Buffy came first. "Just relax, Buffy, can you do that for me? I promise we'll catch the bad guys in the morning, but you need to sleep and give yourself time for that super-slayer healing action."

Her eyelids fluttered, and she smiled faintly. "Promise?"

Xander clenched his jaw and fought to keep his voice soothing while his body screamed to kill whatever hurt her. "I promise."

"'Kay." Trustingly, she fell into a deeper sleep as soon as the word left her mouth.

"Ah, excellent," came from behind them, and Xander, Angel and Hermione turned to see Albus Dumbledore framed by the hospital bay doors. "I see she's sleeping now."

Xander squinted at the man, before turning to Angel. Since they were standing so close, they ended up nose to nose. Xander blinked, momentarily cross-eyed before he straightened himself out. "Why do I think this is at least a little his fault?"

Angel smiled at him, and Xander's stomach flipped from sheer bewilderment. Other than his dreams, Angel had never smiled at him like that. "It usually is," he agreed. He turned to smile at Dumbledore. Unlike before, this was not a nice smile. "But I'm sure he'll tell us what happened. Right, Albus?"

* * *

Angel was having difficulty concentrating on the conversation. Too much of his being was currently wrapped up in Xander—his thoughts, his feelings, his very humanity, bubbling so tantalizingly close on the edges of Angel's awareness. Almost strangled by Xander's terror over Buffy and the others (the others, damnit, where were the others?), Angel found himself disinclined to humor Albus' grandiloquence. "The truth, Dumbledore," he snapped. "What happened, and where is everyone else?"

"Shh!" Hermione waved her hands for silence before waving her wand in Buffy's direction. A globe of light settled over the bed, shimmering slightly before disappearing. "Sound travels only outward." Seeing Xander's blank expression, she huffed exasperatedly. "She won't hear us."

"Good," Xander snapped. "Then I don't have to worry about waking her when I ask _what the fuck is going on_?" Angel winced at Xander's outburst, closing his eyes for a moment as he sorted through the anger, separating it from his demon and Xander's magic. When he opened his eyes, Xander was staring at him. "Um. Sorry," Xander said uncertainly.

Angel waved a hand. "Not important. Not compared to other things," he said pointedly, staring at Albus.

The old wizard nodded, and gestured toward their bed. "Why don't we sit down." It was not a suggestion.

Angel herded Xander back to the bed, where they sat, shoulders touching and feet dangling off the side as they faced the two wizards seated across from them. Albus, Angel noted with some amusement, had changed his stiff hospital chair to a bright blue, poofy monstrosity that looked as comfortable as it was an eyesore.

Xander's anxious shifting beside him ended his distraction. "There was another attack," Xander said flatly. "What happened? Where's Willow, and Giles, and everyone else?" Without thinking, Angel reached out and wrapped an arm around Xander, providing what comfort he could.

Before Albus could respond, the hospital doors banged open and Draco Malfoy ran in. "I'm so sorry, Xander," he said, his expression oddly distant. He seemed unable to meet Xander's eyes, and, with a pang of unease, Angel pulled Xander closer as if to protect him from the coming news.

"Why are you sorry?" Xander asked, his voice close to a shriek. "_What happened?_"

"Willow's okay," Hermione said hastily, taking over the explication duty. "So are her wiccans and most of the slayers. We've put the slayer house under Fidelius—Malfoy cannot find them anymore. The attack happened while the slayers were on patrol. Buffy sprained her ankle badly last night, so she stayed behind with…" she hesitated.

"With Giles," Angel filled in. Giles never would have left his slayer alone and injured, even if Buffy would have barely felt the sprain a day after the fact. Just as he would not have left her now, had he the option. Entirely certain he did not want to know the answer, Angel asked, "Where's Giles?"

Ashen, Draco woodenly replied, "He's with Lucius." Hermione stood and moved close enough that Draco would feel her presence, but did not actually touch him. Angel narrowed his eyes. _Touch makes it worse,_ Hermione had said. He knew which curse that meant.

But that didn't matter now, not to Angel. He turned on the bed and pulled Xander fully into his embrace, concentrating on sharing Xander's pain and fear as much as possible. Long moments passed before Xander stirred. "You said 'most of the slayers,'" he said slowly, looking at Hermione expectantly.

To her credit, Hermione met his gaze without blinking. "Lyra Lamarr was killed," she said bluntly.

Angel felt a sharp spike of grief and rage before it was viciously tamped down with skill Angel did not know Xander possessed. It made him feel oddly unnecessary. Xander turned to Albus. "How are we getting Giles back?" he asked coldly.

"We're formulating plans," Albus said vaguely. He focused on Xander, suddenly sharp. "Are you prepared to discuss such things?"

Xander matched him glare for glare. "Are you prepared to try and keep me out of it?" he asked, his tone like ice.

They stared at each other in silence for long moments, before Hermione sighed deeply. "You aren't leaving him out of this, Albus," she said, her tone sharp enough that Draco gave her a mildly impressed look. "Let's go; I know the Order has been gathering as we speak."

It was Angel's turn to stare. "You still head the Order of the Phoenix?" he asked, more surprised than he should have been, considering.

Albus winked at him. "And you are still a member."

Angel raised his eyebrows. "Then you won't be leaving either of us out."

"Of course not," Albus declared, as if the idea had never occurred to him. He clapped his hands. "Let's go, and leave Miss Patil to her work."

The second woman from before stepped out of the mediwitch's office and moved toward Buffy. She spared a moment to gaze skeptically at Xander, and shove a goblet of blood at Angel. Apparently his earlier rudeness had not been forgotten. "Mister Harris will need a wheelchair," she said coolly. She shook her head at his protest. "You aren't a vampire; do not pretend you have the recovery time of one." To Hermione, she repeated, "He goes in a wheelchair, or not at all. I'll not deal with Poppy's anger merely because he's afraid to seem weak."

Hermione nodded, lips twitching. "You heard the woman," she said cheerfully. "You want the wheelchair, or do you want to waste time arguing about it?" She bit her lip, transferring her gaze to Angel. "And you'll need to hold hands. We aren't risking no physical contact between you two yet."

Xander sighed heavily, looking decidedly sulky, but apparently decided to choose his battles. "Point me to the chair, then. I'm not staying here, that's for damn sure."


	11. 10: By My Blood

Chapter 10 – By My Blood

_Faith doesn't dream like normal people do, like normal Slayers do, with cryptic stories and portentous messages. Beginnings and endings and messages from the Powers wrapped in riddle and rhyme aren't for Faith, no—she dreams in flashes, moments out of time that tell more than she wants and less than she needs._

_Or so she thinks, until her mind goes blank and a young woman carrying a baby skips out upon the dreamscape._

_Even without the strange knowledge that comes in dreams, Faith would have recognized this woman with Xander's features. He has his mother's eyes, but hers are wild and feral where his are soft and friendly, and Faith wants to take the baby from her arms and run. She takes a step forward before she can stop herself, and the woman laughs softly._

_ "Too late," the woman sing-songs, "Too late to save him from me." Her laughter is a thin, high cackle, cracked from disuse. "Will you save him from his father?"_

_The woman waves a hand, and the world tilts sideways and forward, visions splashing over Faith like water from a bucket—Buffy screaming and Draco standing over her body, a woman with curly, dark hair, scenes and faces that twist together like ribbons—until she emerges, gasping. The woman is still laughing._

_"Tell me," she taunts, still in that awful sing-song, "If he falls, who will catch him?" She raises the baby high above her head, and Faith is frozen to the spot, watching as the woman dashes the baby to the ground and—_

Faith woke up, and dashed from her room.

* * *

The moment Angel, Xander and Padma left the hospital wing, Draco crumpled to his knees. Wearily, he waved off Hermione. "I'm fine," he insisted. "Just give me some Pepper-up and I'll head to the meeting."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Do you really expect that to work?"

Before he could respond, the door flew open, hitting the wall so hard it shuddered on its hinges. A brunette blur raced across the room; it wasn't until she stopped at Buffy's bedside that Draco recognized Faith. "Hey, B," she said sadly, shoulders slumped in defeat. Without touching skin, she carefully moved a strand of hair away from the elder Slayer's face.

There was a long moment of silence, the wizards watching Faith as she studied Buffy. After she had seen her fill, she turned and strode fluidly back to Draco, hauling him up by his collar. "You were there," she growled, shaking him. "Give me a reason I shouldn't kill you right now." She pulled him close enough to see the wildness in her eyes as he hung limply in her grasp.

Draco stared at her, unblinking. "I can't," he whispered.

"Dreams!" Hermione blurted suddenly, breaking the moment. She flushed. "I mean, slayer dreams. They're real? You had one? What was it about?"

Bemused, Faith loosened her grip on Draco's robe, allowing him to slump back to the ground. "Yeah, they're real," she agreed, rubbing her eyes. "And you're damn lucky you were in them, Curly, or I'd be busting heads until someone told me where the fuck Fang and Xander are, let alone why we are letting _him_ loose with the good guys!" The disgust in her voice stung. She glared at Draco before appearing to think of something. "You the new 007 or something?"

"He's a spy," Hermione explained when it became obvious that Draco was not going to respond.

Faith nodded. "That's what I said." Her eyes warmed with something close to understanding. "Somebody's got to do the dirty jobs, right?" she muttered, so softly only Draco heard. He nodded, speechless and slightly dismayed that she wasn't proceeding in beating him bloody. He rather felt he deserved it.

"You're Faith," Hermione said. She held out her hand. "Hermione Granger. I believe you've met Draco?"

With an exasperated, perfunctory air, Faith shook Hermione's hand. "Charmed, I'm sure," she drawled. "You wanna tell me what's going on, or do I just get to go off my dream?"

Unsurprisingly, Hermione jumped at this cue. "What was your dream about? You said I was in it?" Draco could tell she was itching to take notes.

Faith's eyes softened a bit with each question. "When we've got the time, I'll tell you all about it, I promise. Right now, I need to know where Xander and Angel are, and what happened to Giles and the minis!" She never raised her voice above normal conversational levels, but the threat was so clear Hermione shrank back.

Draco sighed, massaging his neck where his shirt collar had bit into skin as Faith held him. "Lyra Lamarr is dead, Giles was captured, everyone else is fine and hidden in Ohio. Xander and the vampire are headed to a meeting." He carefully avoided looking at Hermione. "Would you care to escort me?"

Faith closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Lyra," she murmured. "_Fuck."_

"Draco, you are not going anywhere until you have been treated," Hermione declared. Draco cast her a practiced scowl.

Faith gave him a quick glance that missed nothing, and winked lasciviously at Hermione. "Can't improve on perfection, babe." Ignoring Hermione's splutters, Faith grabbed Draco's arm in a surprisingly gentle grip and said nothing about the fact that she was now supporting a good portion of his weight. Draco decided he loved Slayers. "Where we headed?"

Draco, Faith and Hermione arrived mid-argument, with Angel and Xander standing away from the group, just behind Minerva McGonagall. Draco and Faith both moved to join them, but Hermione held them back. Draco stayed back, less because of Hermione than because Faith was doing so even though only magic could have stopped her.

"For Merlin's sake, Minerva, it's a vampire!" Draco blinked, recognizing the speaker as Sturgis Podmore. He had been under the impression that Angel's vampire status was not common knowledge, but secrets did not generally keep well within the Order.

Her voice like ice, Minerva said, "He has a soul."

Sturgis snorted. "Are we just supposed to trust him, then?"

"No." Something dark in Minerva's voice made everyone's eyes snap to her as she glared at him. "You are supposed to trust _me_. To doubt Angel's integrity is to doubt my own."

Sturgis gaped like a fish, and before he could reply Dumbledore interrupted, clapping his hands together. "Well, I believe that quite settles things. Now, I see we have a newcomer." He gestured toward Faith.

Xander cut in before Dumbledore could continue. "Faith, these are my stalkers. Stalkers, you know Faith." The room stayed silent; Faith blew a kiss. "You know, from the stalking," Xander prompted.

Angel chuckled, and did a poor job of masking it with a coughing fit. Xander flopped back into his wheelchair and grinned up at him, but there was a tightness around his eyes belying his easy manner.

Grabbing their hands, Hermione led Faith and Draco to the table, choosing a row of three seats beside Remus Lupin. Before she sat down, Faith froze, staring at him. "Bit hypocritical of you guys, complaining about vampires when you've got a werewolf in your midst." Her voice was mild, but her eyes were hard.

"I said nothing against your friend," Remus replied, equally mild. "I thought the current Slayers were understanding about werewolves."

"Got that from your stalking, did you?" Faith bared her teeth in a fierce grin. "Can't always believe what you hear."

"Or what I see?" Draco was surprised to see a challenge lurking in Remus' amber eyes.

Faith jutted out a hip and tossed her hair over her shoulder. "That depends. Do you like what you see?"

Remus blushed. Draco scowled. From across the table, Snape snapped, "Can we save the poorly constructed flirtation for after the meeting?"

The scent of magic, barely under control, caught Draco's attention and he snapped his head toward Xander. Xander, who was currently staring at Snape with a blank look in his eyes and magic dancing at his fingertips. Draco turned to Angel, and found him watching Xander in fascination. _Oh, honestly._ "Don't just sit there, touch him!" Draco ordered, waving an impatient hand. Angel hastily complied, taking Xander's hand in his, and the entire room breathed a sigh of relief as the magic ebbed.

Faith snorted, amused. "Now that's not something Fang hears everyday," she muttered. Draco glared; she was magnificently unaffected.

Minerva cleared her throat, giving them both a dark look before pointedly turning her attention to Dumbledore, who began speaking as if the entire conversation hadn't happened. "As I was saying, our sources indicate that Mr. Giles has been taken to Lucius Malfoy's private hideaway. A rescue operation at this point is premature, until we gain more intelligence or he is moved to a more accessible location."

Draco blinked, the greatest indication of surprise he allowed himself. Across the table, Angel stated, "You don't mean to rescue him at this point in time." His knuckles were white around Xander's hand, and the human made a small, pained noise before Angel muttered an apology and purposefully relaxed.

Albus gave Draco an expectant look; Draco sighed, and began arguing a position with which he didn't agree. "Lucius' grounds are heavily warded. The only people allowed in freely are Malfoys or," Draco hesitated, "Peter Pettigrew."

Next to Faith, Remus let out an almost inaudible snarl. She gave him a thoughtful look. "Petey's a friend, then?" she asked.

"He was, once," Remus replied. Draco knew the werewolf wouldn't say more on the topic.

Once again, Faith surprised him by not asking for any more details. "Gotcha," she murmured, and turned to Xander. "Boytoy? How're you feeling?"

"How am I feeling?" Xander repeated in a dead tone of voice. In the short time since Draco had last looked in their direction, Xander had moved his chair so close to Angel's that their shoulders were touching. "I feel fine. Just wait until Buffy feels better and hears we aren't rescuing Giles. I think everybody'll change their minds then."

Draco winced. Xander had an excellent point.

Faith stood, giving the table a feral grin. "If we're done talking, I'll go get Dawn caught up on everything." Her smile edging closer to a snarl, she looked directly at Dumbledore. "I'm sure she'll have plenty to say."

"Brilliant," Draco said tiredly, slumping slightly. "We can't wait."

* * *

Xander was full of it.

Even without their connection, Angel would have guessed that Xander would not sit around doing nothing when Giles was in trouble. As it was, Angel could feel the emotions roiling through Xander as they left the meeting, and knew a plan was brewing. After a quick look around, he hauled Xander's wheelchair into a nearby empty classroom. He shut the door and contemplated trying to teach Xander a warding spell against eavesdropping, but he knew there was little they could do to keep Albus from hearing any conversation in the castle, if he so wished. And this was classic Albus, all of it. "This is what he wants," Angel said, crouching in front of the chair. "Albus _wants_ you to try and rescue Giles, he wants to test you."

He would have said more but for a knock on the door. Giving Xander a confused glance, Angel called, "Come in."

Harry Potter strode into the room, followed by Draco. "Thought you might need some help for whatever you're plotting," Harry said breezily. At Angel's incredulous stare, he explained, "Look, I've been where Harris is, okay? I know _I _wouldn't wait to try a rescue just because Albus says so."

Angel turned to Draco, who shrugged. "You're going to need someone who knows the grounds," he said, clearly uncomfortable.

Angel decided not to argue. They would need the help, and they needed someone capable of stopping Xander's magic should something happen. Harry was powerful enough to do so.

"So, what's the plan?" Harry asked, taking Angel's silence as capitulation.

"Here's the plan," Xander said, finally breaking his silence, much to Angel's relief. "Get in, get Giles, get out. That work for everyone?"

Angel, Harry and Draco exchanged looks. Angel considered arguing, but unease was creeping along his shoulders, a sense of urgency making it difficult for him to consider spending much time plotting. "First, we've got to get Xander out of that wheelchair," he commented. Even without the rescue, the sight of Xander so weak pulled at parts of Angel he preferred not to examine.

"Easy enough," Harry said, grinning mischievously. He held out a hand to Draco, who rolled his eyes but obediently pulled a vial from his pocket, slapping it into Harry's hand with perhaps a bit too much force. Harry held it out to Xander, but directed his words to Angel. "Pepper-up should do the trick."

Xander eyed the vial suspiciously, only accepting it when Angel nodded encouragement. The result, however, earned a faint smile as he stood easily. "Okay," Xander said grimly, his hand seeking out Angel's, "let's go."

The walk out of Hogwarts was spent with Draco muttering instructions under his breath—directions once on the grounds, the corridors most likely to be empty, the weaknesses of those they may encounter along the way. Harry, having a passing familiarity with the place and the people, listened with half an ear, only tuning in when Draco began discussing the wards.

"Your biggest advantage is yourself," he told Xander. "The wards on the grounds are almost impossible to break; fortunately, you don't have to do anything of the sort." An odd, bitter smile twisted Draco's lips. "You have Malfoy blood. He never claimed you, but he's never renounced you, either, and that's good enough for the wards. You, and all who are under your protection, can pass without notice."

Harry snorted. "Lucius'll be kicking himself for that oversight," he said gleefully.

"Only if this works," Draco pointed out, scowling. Without any further comment, he disapparated.

Harry winced, and didn't have to wait long for a reaction. "What the hell was that?" Xander shouted, waving a hand at the space where Draco used to be.

"Wizard travel," Angel replied. Harry watched in amused awe as Xander's anger calmed under Angel's steady gaze. "We don't really have time to explain."

Harry extended a hand to each of them. "It feels unpleasant, but it's quick," he said, trying to sound reassuring.

They each took a hand—Angel confidently, Xander gingerly—and Harry apparated them to a clearing near the Malfoy estate, where Draco waited impatiently. "Finally!" he snapped, throwing up his hands. Harry wrinkled his nose, thinking that Draco really needed to work on his people skills. "Now," he added, turning his attention to Harry, "I'm off. Try not to get killed—Weasley'll never let me hear the end of it."

Since Draco had to be rather concerned to say anything at all, Harry manfully refrained from a sarcastic retort, merely nodding in response. Draco nodded back, and strode off toward the decaying manor.

"Okay," Harry sighed, rubbing his hands together. "Let's go." He led his little group to the very edge of the wards, marked by a single, gnarled tree. For a long moment, everyone simply stood, waiting for someone else to act.

Xander finally spoke. "You don't know how to get through, do you," he stated, rather than asked.

Harry smiled sheepishly, a bit embarrassed. "Well, obviously, you just have to protect us and we'll be fine."

Xander rolled his eyes and, before anyone could stop him, shook off Angel's hand and crossed the wards. He closed his eyes, thinking about protection.

"You're thinking too hard," Angel murmured, hovering as close as he could without passing the boundary.

"All I'm thinking about is a million little Angel-pieces if I do this wrong," Xander muttered.

"That's the spirit," Harry said, dubious. He sighed, searching for something helpful to say. "Look, the magic wants to help you. Just… try to let it."

"'Try to let it,' he says," Xander grumbled. He opened his mouth to say something else, then closed it again. Instead he breathed, long, deep breaths, and when he finally spoke, his voice was slower, deeper. "By my blood, I offer you protection."

Harry blinked, feeling something shift. "I think—" he started, turning to Angel, only to realize the vampire was already at Xander's side, unharmed. "—that did it," Harry finished weakly. "See? Easy!"

They paused, taking a look around. Lucius' current hideaway was a big step down from Malfoy Manor. Harry had been to this godforsaken corner of Devon once before, involuntarily, and now that he was back he found himself quite eager to be gone.

"Is that it?" Xander muttered, pointing at the dilapidated structure several yards away.

Harry nodded. "Giles will be in the basement. Lucius is traditional when it comes to keeping prisoners." If his voice sounded bitter, no one commented.

They crept through the night, pausing just outside the door. "Angel," Harry whispered, "Can you tell where Lucius and Wormtail-I mean, Pettigrew—are?"

Angel closed his eyes as he listened intently. "Three humans upstairs. Two in the basement, and one's almost unconscious. No one on the ground level."

Only one guard? Lucius was getting sloppy. Harry felt a niggling suspicion, and pushed it aside. "Follow me," he said firmly, and strode inside, through what was once a grand foyer, past the kitchen, and down into the basement. They could hear conversation before they saw anyone.

"If you insist on telling me your master's grand plan in such excruciating detail, I'd like to request you knock me unconscious so I don't have to listen to you."

For the first time since before the Order meeting, Harry caught a small smile on Xander's face. Giles sounded strained, pained, yet decidedly in control of his faculties. As soon as Harry unlocked the door, Xander rushed through.

From behind Xander, Harry caught a glimpse of Gregory Goyle staring stupidly before Harris took him down with a textbook right cross. "I have a wand, you know," Harry commented, staring down at the bleeding form of his old classmate. He was pretty sure Goyle's nose was broken.

Xander, already kneeling beside Giles, didn't even seem to hear him. "Hey, G-Man," he murmured, "How's it going?"

Angel hurried over, studying the beaten Watcher with a concerned frown. "We've got to get him out of here," he said softly. "He needs a mediwitch."

Harry's niggling suspicion that this was all too easy resurfaced. "Let's go," he agreed. "Quickly."

From behind him came a new voice that left Harry closing his eyes in dismay. "Leaving so soon?" Lucius Malfoy asked silkily. "After all the effort I expended to get you here? I think not."


	12. 11: Like Father, Like Son

Chapter 11 - Like Father, Like Son

Since he woke up to the sound of a Slayer in pain, Xander had been existing in a sort of haze. Anger was there, to be sure, but the shock of the situation combined with Angel's presence to keep it at bay. As he turned to face his father, Xander felt the haze beginning to lift, and tightened his grip on Angel's arm.

"You didn't have to go to any trouble," he drawled, giving Lucius his most insolent smirk. "A phone call would've worked. All you have to say is, 'Xan, come on over, I've got twinkies,' and I'd be here before you hung up."

Lucius made a sharp sound that vaguely resembled laughter. "Very droll. Do your companions appreciate your wit? Speaking of companions, may I offer my condolences? Your little friend never had to die, you know. However, she insisted on getting between me and what I wanted." He smiled, and Xander felt a chill run down his spine. "Always a mistake."

"I don't know," Harry interjected, moving closer to Xander and raising his wand. "Worked out okay for me."

Lucius' genteel mask hardened into something truly ugly at the sight of an old enemy. "Potter," he snarled, before catching himself. "Alas, that the tables have turned," he added in a calmer tone.

"You've said that before," Harry commented. "But I still keep winning."

From behind Lucius came a shout. "_Expelliarmus_!" Harry's wand flew from his hand. Draco stepped out from behind his father just in time to catch it. "Looks like your winning streak is just about up," he taunted.

Looking at father and son together, Xander felt the world tilt alarmingly to the left. Draco had introduced himself as a Malfoy, but until that moment, Xander hadn't added everything together to equal a brother. His brother, as a matter of fact. _We don't look anything alike_, Draco had told him, and still Xander hadn't caught on.

And now his brother was evil? But he wouldn't be allowed in Hogwarts if he were evil, so that meant… Xander's head hurt.

"I fear everything has become too much for Alexander," Lucius said, sounding anything but sympathetic.

Irritated, Xander automatically straightened, only then realizing Angel had been holding him up during his little epiphany. He glanced at the vampire in apology, catching a look of intense concern that made something in Xander's chest ache. It was only when Angel's features shifted to an expression of puzzlement that Xander realized he had been staring, and hurriedly turned back to Lucius and Draco.

"Me? I'm fine," he said hastily. "Not that you care, but I am."

"Oh, I care. I don't know what Dumbledore and his friends have been telling you, but you don't have to believe them." Lucius leaned forward, his voice soft and cajoling, so different from his earlier taunts. "We are very much alike, you and I—together, we could do great things."

Xander blinked. "Um, I'm thinking 'no' on the father-son fun time. I'm guessing it involves a bit more bloodshed than I'm comfortable with."

Lucius laughed. It wasn't a sound Xander wanted to hear again. "My dear boy, I can only _try_ to reach your levels of carnage. You have skills far beyond mine."

Xander fell back a step, and Angel moved so close they were practically embracing. Memories teased at his consciousness, hovering ominously. "That's—I do _not_," he said, almost begging, and Lucius' smile was triumphant.

"Perhaps I should show you." He waved his wand in an intricate spiral, and images appeared: Xander and a large group of masked men in a familiar alley. At first, the men were toying with him, watching in amusement as he tried to fight back, but Xander could see the moment that changed. Past Xander's expression grew determined, his hair blowing in a breeze no one else could feel, and then… the man nearest to him exploded, leaving nothing but a fine mist of blood and bone. The men panicked, trying to run, but Xander caught them effortlessly, holding them until all but one met the same fate.

When the images faded, Xander found himself staring into Lucius Malfoy's amused grey eyes. "I didn't," he said weakly, breathing hard, as if he had just run a great distance (or blown up ten men, but that didn't seem to take much effort and Xander hated himself for finding that a bit impressive, for thinking how that could be useful). "I wouldn't."

"You would," Lucius replied, almost gentle. "Did you not see? You enjoyed that. You reveled in it, and always will. Eventually, you will need to kill to be happy. I know how it happens. Your magic is dark, my son; nothing you touch will ever be safe." He gestured at Harry, who looked ill, and Angel, who looked inscrutable. "Would you put them at risk?"

"I wouldn't," Xander repeated, not sure what he was refusing.

"You would," Lucius whispered, moving closer. "You will." A murmured spell, and Angel and Harry froze. Xander froze as well, but not from a spell so much as his own frantic thoughts.

The thing was, Xander could see it happening, see his dark, tainted, accursed magic flooding out and overwhelming everyone. Harry melting like a candle. Draco breaking like a twig. Nothing left of Angel but ashes, and Xander laughing at it all. Xander could _see it_.

Lucius kept coming, moving ever closer; in a last bid for distance, Xander released his grip on Angel's arm in order to step backward.

It was the last thing he remembered.

* * *

Draco had told Harry that this was a bad idea.

_"A proper mission is one thing," he had argued. "With back up and a plan, you ever heard of that, Potter?"_

"We have a plan," Harry replied, insufferable as always. "Sneak in, get the Watcher, and sneak back out."

"That's not a plan, that's a wish list!"

"What's the difference? Besides, Malfoy, Harris is going whether we help him or not."

"You don't know that. He's not you—he's a Malfoy."

Harry's smile had been small and pitying. "No, Draco, he's not."

So they had come, and Lucius had been ready, and here Draco was, playing the part of the bad guy once more. He had disarmed Potter before his father could, hoping he would have an opportunity to give the wand back at some point.

Then Lucius had to push.

Greedy, is what it was. Lucius wasn't happy having Xander there against his will, not when he could have him broken as well.

Watching the growing desperation in Xander's eye, Draco had been primed for action by the time his brother dropped Angel's arm, and he dove to the side, feeling magic rush by him in a deadly wave. Lucius' hastily constructed shield was no match for the raw power. He was blasted backward, through the open doorway and into the hall beyond.

On his hands and knees, Draco looked up into a brown eye lit with an arrogant power. He swallowed, hard. With a small gesture, Xander summoned Harry's wand. Still staring at Draco, he leaned forward, seizing Harry and Giles by the hand, and Angel by the back of the neck, and they all disappeared with a pop.

Aching from his lunge across the room, Draco sat back on his heels, listening to his own panicked breathing and his father's low moans from the hallway. He didn't want to deal with his father's disappointment, couldn't bear the thought of maintaining his façade for a moment longer. But there wasn't any choice. "C'mon, Malfoy," he muttered to himself. "Up you get."

He sprang to his feet with a sprightliness he didn't truly feel, and headed into the hallway. From the stairs beyond, he heard a wavering voice. "Is there s-s-something wrong?"

"No, everything's sodding perfect, Pettigrew," Draco snapped. "Get down here!"

He could hear hesitant footsteps on the stairs. Wormtail stopped as he caught sight of Lucius, still laying in the hallway. Draco gave a disdainful wave of his wand. "Take care of this, would you? I'm going to check the grounds, make sure the wards are intact."

Ignoring Pettigrew's sniveling, he stepped past his father and was on his way up the stairs when Lucius' voice pulled him to a stop. "The wards are fine, I can feel them," he said shortly, allowing Wormtail to pull him to his feet. "Come with me. I'll need your help."

Feeling more than a hint of dismay, Draco echoed, "You need my help?"

"Is that not what I just said?" Lucius looked a bit ridiculous, his hair askew and wavering slightly on his feet, but the expression on his face was frightening. "We are going to prepare a little gift for Alexander. Peter," he snapped. "Bring the Malfoy Grimoire to the first floor study, and then find a hole to crawl into. I won't have you distracting us."

Draco blanched. The Grimoire was a Malfoy "treasure", filled with spells so dark the Ministry would be able to put Lucius away for life if they got their hands on it. "You plan to use a blood curse," he said, not bothering to make it a question.

"Of course," Lucius said, brushing past his son on the way upstairs. "Come along, Draco. There is work to be done."

Draco followed. A blood curse. How would he keep Xander safe after this?

* * *

Angel and Harry's petrification wore off during the apparation, so Angel was able to catch Xander as he keeled over. Harry was not quick enough to do the same for Giles, who ended up sprawled at their feet. "Where the hell are we?" Angel snapped, bending to pick up Xander.

Harry shrugged, absently waving his wand to levitate Giles. "Not sure," he said, looking around. "Actually, isn't that Hogsmeade, over there?"

Angel frowned, studying the town in the distance. "It might be. It's been a while since I've been there."

"I know a way we might be able to find out." Setting Giles back down, Harry thought for a moment before waving his wand. A silver streak flew out and headed in that direction. "Okay, Hogwarts is that way," he said cheerfully, levitating Giles once more. "At least it's a nice day for a walk."

Angel glowered at him, but obediently set off toward the town, and beyond that, Hogwarts. "How can you be so cheerful?" he asked. "We were useless back there, and now Lucius will want Xander more than ever."

Harry glanced at him with weary green eyes, and Angel realized he wasn't as cheery as he appeared. "Everyone's alive, aren't they? Sometimes, that's enough to keep you going."

They walked in silence after that, and were still a ways from Hosmeade when a pair of wizards on brooms landed before them. "Honestly, Harry, I thought you'd outgrown these harebrained rescues," Hermione said, exasperated.

"You did?" Remus asked, his voice mild. "I can't imagine why." He gave Harry a stern look, but his eyes were twinkling. "I'm sure you have quite a story for us." Reaching into his pocket, he dug around for a moment before pulling out a shrunken broom. He tossed it to Harry, who easily enlarged it and climbed on, arranging Giles' semiconscious form in front of him.

"Oh no," Angel snapped. "We aren't traveling by broom. I need to stay with Xander, and neither of us are capable of flying a broom at the moment."

"Angel," Harry said quietly, waiting for the vampire to meet his eyes before continuing. "This is the fastest way to get back to Hogwarts, where it's safest. Xander's not going to lose control of his magic again so soon after expending so much energy."

As much as he didn't want to admit it, Harry had a point. Walking at a human pace, the remaining walk to Hogsmeade, then to Hogwarts, would take at least an hour. Giles definitely needed medical attention, and Xander probably did, too. Angel sighed, and focused on Remus, deciding he would prefer him to Hermione carrying Xander. "You drop him, I drop you," he said bluntly, enjoying the way the werewolf paled. "Understand?"

"Perfectly," Remus said faintly. He cleared his throat, and when he spoke again his voice was steadier. "I'll use a sticking charm. Xander will be perfectly safe."

It was almost physically painful to let go of Xander. Once he had, Angel climbed onto Hermione's broom without waiting for an invitation. "Let's go," he growled.

With a barely audible 'hmph', Hermione took off, and they followed Harry and Remus back to the castle. Albus was waiting for them on the grounds.

"So glad to see you back safely," he said warmly.

"Are you?" Angel asked tiredly. He held up a hand before Albus could reply. "Let's just… not do this right now, Albus." He moved over to Remus and picked up Xander. "We need to get Xander and Giles back to the hospital wing."

Having the audacity to look hurt, Albus nodded and turned, leading them back into the castle. Just inside the entrance, they were greeted by Dawn and Faith. Dawn was in a full blown snit, arms crossed and toe tapping, and Faith was slouched in that particularly lazy way that meant she was perilously close to violence. "Did you have fun without us, Fang?" she drawled, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Loads," Angel said dryly, shifting Xander in his arms. "You think you can finish yelling at me in the hospital wing?"

Dawn pushed past Faith to hover at Angel's elbow. "Hospital wing? Is Xander alright? Where's Giles?" she asked, rapid-fire.

"Giles is back here," Harry replied from his place outside the doors, with Giles floating beside him. "Don't you want to make sure he's okay before you start a row?"

Put that way, it was hard for Dawn and Faith to refuse. Unfortunately, their opportunity to yell would not occur for quite a while, because halfway to the hospital wing, Xander started convulsing.


	13. 12: Prices to Be Paid

**_A/N:_** I've written four different versions of this chapter, and hated them all. I kind of want to move on, though, so I'm sticking with what I've got.

My most sincere thanks to everyone who has reviewed or recommended this story. They've kept me going over the many rewrites of this chapter!

**Chapter 12 - Prices to Be Paid**

_~Fourteen years ago~_

Draco studied the outstretched fingers on his right hand, and extending the pointer on his left as well. Beaming, he held up his hands toward his governess. "I'm this many today!" he crowed.

"Aye, that you are," Mrs. Morrissey agreed, scarcely looking up from her knitting. "Now be a good boy and sit still, would you please? Your father will be here shortly."

Young as he was, Draco failed to notice the slight tremor in her voice. He jumped to his feet and twirled excitedly. It was his birthday, and his daddy was taking him to be fitted for real, grown-up robes. Since most of his time was spent with his governess, seeing either of his parents was a rare treat.

Before Mrs. Morrissey could say a word of warning, Draco sat down and picked up one of his books. His father would enter to see Draco reading like the big boy he was, and he would maybe even smile at him.

As he opened the book, the heavy parchment cut deep into his finger, and Draco took a sharp, gasping breath as blood welled, spilling over his hand and onto the page. He wouldn't cry, he told himself, lips trembling, he wouldn't… but the sight of blood proved too much for him. "M-M-Mrs. Morrissey," he whimpered, leaving the book open on the floor and hurrying to her comforting presence. "Hurts!"

Mrs. Morrissey set aside her knitting and settled the boy on her lap. "Let's take a look," she murmured, carefully laying her wand beside the cut. Draco relaxed as the cut vanished and she cleaned off his finger with a word. "Thank you!" he whispered, giving the woman a one-armed hug. Because it was his birthday, just this once, she returned the embrace.

And rather than seeing his grown-up son reading on the floor, Lucius entered to find Draco curled up in the lap of the help. His lips twisted. "Is that how you greet your father?"

Draco's eyes widened, and he jumped to his feet. "Father!" he said, bowing slightly. He knew better than to try and hug the man, even in private. "Mrs. Morrissey was just healing me." Waving his finger at his father, Draco explained, "The book hurted me."

Lucius followed his son's gaze to the book open on the floor, and his eyes narrowed. "Is that your blood on the book?" he asked in a soft tone Draco had learned to fear. Unable to find his voice, Draco simply nodded, twisting his hands nervously.

Lucius bent and picked up the book, staring at the stain on the page. "Do you know what someone could do with this?" he asked. Moving in slow, stalking steps, he approached Draco. "He could make you bleed all over, hundreds of cuts all over your body. He could boil your blood until it burst through your skin. You could run for miles, and never escape his wrath." In a single, sharp motion, he drew his wand and vanished away the blood. "A son of mine should know to be more careful."

Draco could feel tears in the back of his throat, but he nodded obediently. "Yes, Father. I'll be more careful."

"See that you are. As a lesson, I think our outing will be postponed. Clearly, you are not nearly as mature as I thought you to be." Without waiting for any further response, Lucius swept from the room, and Draco fell to his knees, ignoring his governess' sound of dismay.

He learned many lessons that day, the danger of blood being only one of them. The lesson he remembered the most, though, was that his daddy never even hesitated before speaking of killing him, as if he found the idea no more bothersome than swatting a fly.

-

Blood curses were a nasty business.

What made a blood curse truly evil was that there was no defense against it. It was an attack from the inside out, a wizard's very being revolting against itself, and how could one defend against that?

They required blood, naturally, which was the reason they were relatively uncommon (well, that, and the fact that they were considered the darkest magic, damning the user in ways most wizards cared not to experience). If a wizard had the blood of their victim on hand, they usually had the victim as well, and had no need for the production a blood curse required.

The Malfoy grimoire, however, had blood curses of a different sort, the kind for punishing wayward children. The blood of the father called to the blood of the son, abusing a bond that could never be broken, should never be tarnished. Draco had never paid much attention to those spells, certain he was safe from them. A Malfoy father couldn't kill his only son; the family line had a spell to prevent this, to ensure its survival. And Draco had thought himself an only child right up until he wasn't, and these thoughts weren't helping at all.

His mind racing so quickly he felt dizzy, Draco watched as his father quickly, expertly assembled the needed potion, cutting deeply into his own wrist to set dark blood flowing into the cauldron. Scarcely needing to look at the grimoire, Lucius chanted in Latin. Draco caught the occasional word through the rushing in his ears—father, son, vengeance, Alexander Lavelle Harris.

While Lucius was distracted, Draco thought. He'd always wanted a big brother. He wondered, if they had grown up together, if Xander would have protected him, stood up for him, taught him how to fight. Would he have wanted to be like Xander, instead of his father? Would his life have been different, if there had been someone else who understood what it was to grow up under the thumb of Lucius Malfoy?

But none of these thoughts mattered. For all intents and purposes, Draco didn't have a big brother, and soon he wouldn't have one at all, not unless he could come up with something. And Draco wasn't Potter, had no gift for pulling miracles out of thin air, not even when someone depended on him.

The dull clank of the cauldron moving into the sink woke Draco from his reverie. He looked up to meet Lucius' triumphant smile. "It is done." Lucius tapped his wand against his wrist, healing the bloody gash, and fastidiously cleaned away the bloodstains. "A pity the boy could not be put to a better use," he said thoughtfully, "but there are prices to be paid." He smiled, and Draco felt a chill. "I do wish I could see it."

"Prices to be paid," Draco repeated, under his breath. An idea hovered on the edge of his consciousness, tantalizing yet just out of reach. "I'm going to go check on Gregory," he lied. He hesitated, weighed down by words he couldn't say, then left. The moment he was out of the room he started to run, not down to Goyle but out onto the grounds, away from this place for possibly the final time.

The idea was growing.

-

Once, Angelus had punched through a woman's chest and torn out the shreds of her beating heart. It had been an experiment, as he termed it, which mostly meant he was curious as to how she would die.

Messily, it turned out, but the one thing that Angel and Angelus both remembered was the look of dawning realization in her eyes. It was a slow horror as her mind struggled to comprehend what had happened, her body trying to cope with the enormity of what was missing.

It lasted mere seconds, of course, but he was reminded of that woman, and the horror he'd never truly understood until now, when Xander's convulsions stopped, his body gone achingly still, and the connection between wizard and vampire snapped like a dry rubber band. He'd started running the moment the convulsions began, but as the loss slammed into him, Angel stumbled, knees buckling. Only Faith's strong grip kept him from falling.

"What the fuck is wrong now?" she muttered to herself. Louder, she added, "Let me have Xander, you can follow us."

Her suggestion made sense, but there was no way in hell it was happening. "No!" he snapped automatically. With a growl, he regained his bearings and shook off her hand. Xander's heartbeat was all he could hear, all he could focus on. He would keep Xander safe. "Let's go." He took off; Faith, caught off guard, followed behind.

One of the doors fell off its hinges as he blasted into the hospital wing. Suddenly there were people everywhere, all trying to take Xander. Angel batted the hands away. "Angel. Angel!" Faith placed her hands on the sides of his head, and he had no choice but to look at her. "Angel, I get that you are freaking right now, but Xander needs help," she said, her words crisp and clear and still so hard to hear over the sound of Xander's faltering heart. "If you don't let the good witches help him, I'm going to take you down." She stared into his eyes. "Do you understand?"

The words "Xander" and "help" got results. Angel carefully, gently placed Xander on a bed and was promptly pushed out of the way by Madame Pomfrey and Padma. He staggered, and Faith steered him toward the bed next to Xander's. Rubbing at his chest absently, he watched as they worked. Faith reached out and caught his hand, pressing it against his sternum. "Pretty weird gesture for you to be making," she commented.

"It's… he's gone," Angel said softly. "I can't feel him." It wasn't until it stopped that Angel realized Xander had taken up residence under his skin, that their connection didn't end when Xander stopped touching him. He carried a spark of Xander just under his breastbone, and he never knew until it disappeared. It had been such a short time, and already he did not know how to live without it. "It hurts," he admitted, gasping the words.

Faith bit her lip. "But he's still alive," she said in a small voice. "Xander's still alive."

Before Angel could reply, Dawn, Harry, Hermione and Remus burst into the room, talking over each other in their worry. Remus easily floated Giles to a nearby bed, and Padma left Xander in Poppy's hands to care for the new patient. A moment later, Dumbledore slipped into the room, his sharp eyes taking in everything.

"Did Lucius do anything to Xander before you left?" Dumbledore asked, his voice easily cutting through the clamor.

Angel shook his head, and Harry jumped in. "He cast a spell to show Xander what he… what happened when Xander was attacked, and he Petrified me and Angel, but that was all he was able to do before Xander blasted him into a wall."

The words barely made sense to Angel, unable to ignore the gaping maw in his chest long enough to focus on the conversation. "I can't feel him," he repeated, looking desperately at Dumbledore. "Why can't I feel him?"

The old wizard's expression grew grim. "A moment, if you please," he said politely, before striding toward Xander's bed. He spoke quietly to Pomfrey, then began casting spells of his own.

Angel stared at Xander, ignoring everyone else, willing him to wake. Nearby, Buffy and Giles slept peacefully, and Angel found himself hating them for that.

Nearly everyone in the hospital wing jumped as the doors burst open once more and Draco came flying through. "It's a blood curse," he gasped, out of breath from his dash across the castle. He started toward Xander, only to find a hostile vampire in his way.

"Touch him and I'll break you in half," Angel snarled, his true face showing.

Draco took a deep breath and met the yellowed gaze head on. "I think I can help him."

Angel took a step closer, letting out a growl of frustration. "You know what I think? I think you stood there and did nothing while this happened."

"And now I'm going to fix it," Draco snapped. He glanced past Angel at Dumbledore. "I'm Lucius' heir. If I can make the magic accept me as the new head of the bloodline, I can reverse the spell."

Dumbledore narrowed his eyes at Draco and considered him in silence for a long moment. "Do you understand what you are suggesting? If you fail—"

"I won't," Draco said quickly.

"Your father will know the moment you try," Albus continued.

Avoiding those knowing blue eyes, Draco said lightly, "It's been a while since someone's tried to kill me. I wouldn't want to get out of practice."

"Wait a second," Dawn interjected. "Are we even sure this is a blood thingy?"

"I'm afraid so," Dumbledore replied. "That much I was able to ascertain before Mr. Malfoy's entrance."

"I don't get it," Faith said bluntly. "You're saying Papa Malfoy put a long-distance whammy on Xander? Can he do that to anyone?"

"It's 'cause they're related, right?" Dawn said, her mouth twisted unhappily. "It's always about the blood."

Draco gave her a quick, surprised look. "Yes, exactly." He drew his wand. "We can explain more later, there isn't much time." He threw up his hands when Angel moved to block him from Xander. "For Merlin's sake, do you _want_ him to die?"

There was no _time_, Angel knew that better than anyone, but he couldn't just step aside. "That level of magic… it will kill you if you fail." It wasn't a question.

Draco cleared his throat. "Yes."

Somewhere in the background, Harry and Dawn started talking, but for this moment all that mattered was Angel and Draco. Angel glanced at Albus, who nodded encouragingly, and, using all the strength he had, stepped out of the way. He collapsed onto the nearby bed, head in his hands, and reached out to Xander with everything in him.

-

If this was heaven, Xander was feeling pretty ripped off.

Of course, if it wasn't… he supposed things could be a lot worse. He just couldn't quite imagine _how_.

Xander waved his hand in front of Faith's face. "Hello. Anybody there?" He moved closer to Dawn, reaching out a hand, and jumped when it slid right through her. "Okay, that's just creepy," he muttered. "Seriously, what is going on?

"Okay, think," he told himself. "You were at Malfoy's little love nest, and he made you mad, and..." He scratched his head. "Well, Angel was there." Angel!

His gaze shot to the vampire, sitting with his head in his hands. "Okay, touching Angel makes the scariness go away, and this is pretty freaksome, so…" With a hand that was trembling only slightly, he reached out and touched Angel's cheek.

-

Angel gasped, his head flying up. With everyone focused on Draco, no one noticed as he placed a hand on his own cheek.

-

Draco took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and began. "I call for judgment. I stand as Heir of the Malfoy line, firm against the deeds of my father."

-

Xander jumped as Angel reacted. "Okay, did not expect that." He watched as Angel lifted his hand. "I guess—"

When Angel covered Xander's hand with his own, Xander fell to his knees. "Oh," he managed to breath as Angel's mind opened to him. He could feel everything—Angel's desire to repent, his protectiveness toward his friends, even Angelus' bloodthirsty desires—and he accepted it all. Angel was a technophobe, an artist, a Champion, a killer. He couldn't sing and he was so out of touch with his feelings it was possible he wasn't aware he had any.

He was everything Xander needed.

-

Angel froze, closing his eyes. Xander was _there_, he was so close, yet so far away.

Even with all his worries, Angel could feel his demon settle in a way it hadn't in years, and he felt a peace spread through him, slow and sweet as honey. He found himself smiling, somehow sure things would be okay.

-

Picking up a transfigured knife, Draco neatly slit his wrist. "By my blood, I give my measure. Weigh my heart against that of my father, for he has erred and deserves not his title. I call for judgment! _Fiat iustitia_!"

-

Xander remained where he was, kneeling between Angel's legs, and traced Angel's features with his free hand. Somehow, he could not look away.

-

Angel was grateful he did not have to breathe, as he was afraid the slightest movement could end this moment of warmth and, yes, understanding, this essence of Xander he might never feel again.

-

With a sound like thunder, Draco's wound disappeared, leaving a thin, silvery scar that appeared years old. He let out a shaky breath. "Right then." A quick mutter in Latin removed the curse.

-

Suddenly finding himself in a hospital bed, Xander opened his eyes and met Angel's gaze. The connection between them snapped open, and both relaxed, exchanging almost shy smiles.

Xander quickly found himself overrun with friends and medical staff, but Angel hung back, thoughtfully rubbing his chest. They had time.


	14. 13: Truth in Hiding

Chapter 13 - Truth In Hiding

As was becoming depressingly normal for him, Xander had barely managed to stay awake long enough to receive a hug from Dawn and an arm squeeze from Faith before tumbling into an exhausted sleep. When he woke, he had an unexpected visitor sitting beside him. Xander beamed.

"Giles, you're okay!"

Giles smiled, ducking his head. "Better than okay," he said mildly. "The nurses here handled everything from my broken ribs to my myopia." He narrowed his eyes at Xander. "While I find myself quite grateful to you and your friends, I must say, you shouldn't have come."

Xander blinked. "What, and leave you there? Do you know what Buffy would've done to us when she woke up?"

"Reminded you that she's the one with superpowers?" came a groaning voice from a few beds over. Giles and Xander exchanged delighted smiles. Giles was out of his chair and over to his Slayer in seconds, but when Xander tried to follow suit, the room started spinning the moment he placed a foot on the floor.

"Good to hear your lovely voice!" Xander said cheerfully, pretending he was sitting on his bed because he wanted to be there, not because he was unable to stand up. "How are you feeling?"

Buffy pushed herself into a sitting position and grinned at both men. "Like I had a really good nap… right after a train ran over me."

"Ah yes, the Lucius express," Xander said wisely. "We are familiar with it."

Buffy ignored him in favor of inspecting her Watcher, her eyes serious. "You really okay?" she asked, so quiet Xander barely heard her.

"Quite," Giles replied, giving Buffy a soft smile. "And you?"

"You know me," she said airily. "I bounce."

Xander was starting to feel like a third wheel, when the door to the hospital wing opened and Dumbledore and Pomfrey entered. "Mister Giles, you shouldn't be up!" the hospital matron exclaimed, making a beeline for him, while Dumbledore headed for Xander.

The sound of Poppy scolding Giles was a quiet backdrop as the two men studied each other. Finally, Xander had to break the silence. Instead of the nonchalant, 'howdy' he had intended to say, what came out was, "Where's Angel?"

The older wizard smiled, apparently pleased by the question. "He, Draco, and Harry are being questioned by Aurors."

"They're _what_? By who?"

"Aurors are the wizarding police," Giles replied, apparently having satisfied Madame Pomfrey as she was now examining Buffy. He walked over to Dumbledore and folded his arms. "And if this is regarding their rescue of me, I believe I should be present as well."

"Me too!" Xander said hastily.

"Me three!" said Buffy from her bed. Everyone looked at her. "What? It's boring up here."

"Be that as it may," Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling, "I think it would be best if we keep all Slayers out of the Ministry's reach."

Even Buffy, though she sulked, found it hard to argue with that.

Dumbledore studied the other two men. "I should warn you that the description of events being provided by the others is not precisely what you may recall happening," he said delicately.

Xander was about to ask what that meant, when Giles spoke. "They're misleading the Aurors." He paused, obviously thinking. "To protect Xander?"

"Wait, what?" Xander folded his arms. "Why do I need protecting?"

Giles and Dumbledore exchanged a look, before Dumbledore replied. "You are unfamiliar and powerful, in a time of great unrest. The Ministry does not react well to such a combination." Xander frowned, not sure he understood the meaning beneath the words. Dumbledore shook his head. "They would take you, Mister Harris, and control you in the name of the common safety."

Xander blanched. "Just say no to the government in my business, gotcha."

"As you say." Dumbledore straightened, becoming even more businesslike. "I believe they are placing the majority of the credit on Mister Potter's shoulders. Given his habit of performing the impossible, that should limit the number of questions thrown your way."

"So, to protect me, we're throwing Harry to the wolves?" Xander asked slowly.

Dumbledore smiled. "Ah, but Harry grew up among the wolves. Do not worry, Xander; he is quite capable of looking after himself."

* * *

Angel, Harry, and Draco were in the middle of lying their asses off when Dumbledore pushed Xander's wheelchair onto the scene, Giles following behind. "Xander!" Angel said, hurrying over. "How are you feeling?" He reached out and touched Xander's hand, and Xander's whole body felt alive at the contact.

"Good," Xander managed, avoiding Angel's eyes, all too aware of the two Aurors watching them avidly. "You going to introduce me to your interrogators?"

One of the Aurors let out an affronted huff at the moniker, but the other gave Xander a bright smile. "You must be Alexander Harris and Rupert Giles," he said cheerfully. "I'm Auror Weasley and this is Auror Turpin." He glanced quizzically at Dumbledore. "We had been told you were too ill to be questioned."

"We got better," Xander said flatly, not liking the way Turpin was staring at Angel while fingering her wand. He got up out of his wheelchair and tottered over to stand beside the vampire. Winded by the exertion, he leaned into Angel, wrapping an arm around his side in a bid to stay upright.

Weasley blinked at them. "Er, right. Well, Angel was almost done with his account of the events."

Angel's arm slipped around Xander's shoulders, stablizing him, as he replied. "There isn't much more to tell. After we found Giles, Harry stunned Lucius and we managed to escape."

"And you can't tell us anything about the grounds, the people?" Turpin asked, her tone rather more hostile than was warranted.

"I assure you, there is no point," Draco interjected. "My father has doubtlessly moved to another location by now, and any holes in his security have been remedied."

Turpin glanced at Draco, and Xander cringed. If her look at Angel was angry, when she focused on Draco her eyes showed nothing but hatred. "An easy excuse. You've always got one of those, haven't you, Malfoy?"

Draco smiled at her, his eyes hard. "Just trying to assist the Ministry in any way I can. As the Head of the Malfoy line, I feel it is my responsibility to assist in bringing Lucius to justice."

Turpin's expresion was outraged, but Weasley simply laughed. "Pull the other one, Malfoy," he chortled, his expression dismissive. "Everybody knows your dad is the Head of the Malfoy line." His face froze. "Wait. Did you kill him?"

"As if he'd have the nerve," Turpin muttered, still glaring.

"He performed the ritual last night," Harry cut in, stepping a bit closer to Draco. "The magic found him to be the proper Head." Ignoring the Aurors' gaping faces, he turned to Draco. "We should probably stop by Gringotts, see if they've moved the Malfoy vaults into your control."

Turpin drew her wand and pointed it at Draco. "As you are Head of the Malfoy line, I am taking you in for questioning regarding the activity of your predecessor, Lucius Malfoy."

Xander's jaw dropped, and he tried to take a step forward only to find himself held tightly against Angel's side. He looked at Angel, and followed his gaze to Giles.

"Excuse me," Giles said coolly, "but I must have misunderstood. If Draco were serving his father, the magic of the ritual would not have chosen him as Head. The magic chose him because he was found to be superior to his father in word and deed. Clearly, they are not working together."

Harry nodded. "And you can't haul someone in just for being related to Lucius Malfoy. You'd have every pureblood in Britain in a cell."

"Not just Britain," Draco commented without looking away from Turpin's wand. "We've extensive relations in France."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Of course, you do."

He gave Weasley a look of appeal, and the Auror said uncomfortably, "Look, Lisa, put your wand away. You can't take Malfoy in just because you're hacked off you were wrong about him."

Turpin's wand wavered, as she gave her fellow Auror a look of betrayal. Just as it seemed that things would degenerate even further, Dumbledore finally spoke. "I believe I have spoken on behalf of Draco previously, Miss Turpin. Unless new evidence has arisen against him, the Ministry has no grounds to take him anywhere."

"He couldn't have mentioned that earlier?" Xander muttered, and saw Angel's lips twist in agreement.

"Maybe not," Turpin said, falsely calm, before swinging her wand over to point at Angel. "But you haven't completed the proper paperwork to have a vampire here."

Angel and Xander started to scuffle, as both tried to move in front of the other to block the wand. Weasley stared at them, and snorted. "Yeah, he seems like a big threat," he commented, sarcasm dripping from every word.

"Not helping, Ron," Harry snapped.

A feeling of sheer power pressing against his skin made Xander stop struggling. He noticed everyone else paused as well, looking about in confusion, before finding the source.

Dumbledore stood tall, suddenly much younger than he had seemed only a minute before, and the power that poured off him made Xander's heart race. When the Headmaster spoke his voice was quiet, but unyielding. "I'm certain you aren't telling me how to run my school, Miss Turpin. If you were, I would advise you that the paperwork to which you are referring is required only when school is in session or children are present; during the summer break I am free to have whatever guests I please."

Turpin nodded faintly, and Dumbledore smiled. "Now, I believe you have concluded your business. Shall I show you out?" Though it was phrased as a request, it clearly wasn't.

Weasley cleared his throat. "Erm, we haven't actually spoken to Mr. Harris yet," he said meekly.

Xander did not want to talk to the Aurors any longer than was needed, even if Weasley seemed mostly okay. "Went to Malfoy's, broke out Giles, ran into Lucius, ran away," he blurted, giving his best, most clueless smile. "End of story." It was even true, as far as it went. "I'm too sick to tell you any more," he added, sagging against Angel in a movement that had rather more truth in it than he would have liked.

Weasley eyed Xander and Angel. "We should really—" he started, only to cut himself short at the sound of growling. "Or, you know, we could come back," he said hastily, giving a slight bow in Angel's direction.

The discussion between the Aurors and the others continued, but Xander was too distracted to follow it. "Hey, Deadboy," he whispered, just loud enough for Angel to hear. "Did you know that you're growling?"

The growling stopped. Angel ducked his head and spoke directly into Xander's ear. "Albus promised me you would stay in bed until I returned." On the last word, Angel's lips brushed Xander's ear, and Xander shuddered, letting out a breath. Seeming not to notice the reaction, Angel continued. "It was my one condition for speaking to the Aurors, and he ignored it because it's more interesting this way."

Xander closed his eye for a long moment, pulling himself together with sheer will. "Damn Dumbledore," he muttered, wishing the man had forced him to stay in the hospital wing where it was safe. He found himself leaning closer to Angel, and forced himself to move away. "I think I'll go sit down," he murmured, disentangling himself from Angel and hurrying back to his wheelchair.

As he was sitting down, he tuned back into the other conversation in time to see Auror Turpin storm off. Auror Weasley paused long enough to give them all an apologetic look, then hurried after his partner. After they left, there was a long pause.

At length, Giles broke the silence. "Should I be insulted that they didn't speak to me?" he asked mildly.

"We sort of told them you were unconscious the whole time," Harry said sheepishly.

Giles lifted his chin. "I can be trusted to protect Xander."

"You shouldn't have to lie to do so," Draco said quietly. "Not when it isn't necessary."

Xander let out a frustrated huff of air, but didn't say anything. He hated this. He hated that anyone had to protect him, that Angel, Harry, and Draco had lied to government officials on his behalf while he was barely able to stand in their defense. He hated feeling weak and out of control, and what he was feeling was so far beyond his ken he couldn't even joke about it.

He could still feel Angel's lips against the sensitive skin of his ear, the vampire's strength pressed against his side. He could feel the echo of Angel in his head, the ghost of what he had felt the day before, and he wanted… He wanted…

He wanted Angel. He wanted _everything_. And wasn't that terrifying?

He gave his feelings a vicious shove, and turned back to Angel, who was watching him quizzically. "Buffy's awake."

Angel's even features broke into a smile that made Xander's chest hurt, but Draco beat him to a response. "Is she okay?" he asked anxiously.

"Yeah, she's bouncing back in Buffy form," Xander replied, a bit surprised that Draco seemed to care so much. He cleared his throat. "So, I'm not being judgemental or anything here, because I get the whole 007 thing, but… were you the one that tortured her? Is that why you're acting so guilty?"

Draco took a step back, looking as if he had been slapped. "Lucius cast the spell," Harry said quietly. "But Draco was there."

"I tried to stop him," Draco said, his face even paler than usual. "And I left her there for Dumbledore to help."

"And got punished for it," Harry added. Draco gave him a mildly betrayed look that Harry met with a shrug of the shoulders.

"Really not blaming you," Xander said wearily, leaning back. He blinked slowly, tiredly, and when he opened his eyes Angel was there, seizing the back of his chair. "What the hell?"

"We're going back to the hospital wing," Angel explained to the room. "Xander needs to rest." Without any further conversation, they were off.

Xander tried to scowl, but a yawn broke through instead. "Just because you want to see Buffy doesn't mean I need to come with," he complained.

"Xander," Angel said, exasperated, "I can _feel_ how tired you are."

"Oh, really? Can you feel what I'd like to do to you?" The wheelchair came to an abrupt halt, and Xander yelped, "Put glue in your hairgel! That's what I meant!"

Without responding, Angel walked around to the front of the chair, crouching so he was at Xander's level. He reached out and put a hand on Xander's cheek, and Xander could feel his eyes get big, all his sarcastic comments floating away. Using all his willpower, he did not lean into Angel's touch. "I'm glad Buffy's going to be alright," Angel said.

Xander blinked. "Me too."

Angel nodded, his face inscrutable. "She'll always be my friend, but she's not the reason I'm going to the hospital wing right now."

Xander stared, utterly confused. "Okay…"

Angel's face twisted into a frustrated grimace. "What I'm saying is, I _can_ feel what you'd like to do to me, and it's got nothing to do with hairgel." Xander froze, mortified, as Angel stroked his cheek. So quietly Xander could barely hear him, Angel added, "And it's nothing I don't want to do to you, too."

Xander's brain shut down for a moment. By the time he was able to respond, they were almost to the hospital wing. "Angel, wait," he said quickly, not waiting for the wheelchair to come to a stop before jumping out of it. He spun around and grabbed Angel's hand, smiling as Angel automatically grasped back, before growing serious. "I don't want you stuck with me just because I latched onto you like a baby with a pacifier."

Angel's face scrunched up in confusion and what appeared to be hurt, and he shook his head, dropping Xander's hand. "I may not know for certain what's going on between us, but, Xander, I think that's almost exactly the opposite of happened."

"Angel," Xander said helplessly, hating that he had put such an expression on the vampire's face.

Angel held up a hand. "Think about why I can feel your emotions, but you can't feel mine. Why do you think that is?" Without waiting for a response, he entered the hospital wing.

Xander sank back into his chair. "Stupid bonds," he said sulkily. "Stupid feelings. Stupid vampires."

His sigh echoed in the empty hall. "Stupid Xander."


	15. 14: Trust

**_A/N:_** _Bit of a filler chapter, sorry, but the next chapter should be along much more quickly. Thank you all for your reviews!_

**Chapter 14 – Trust**

Taking a deep breath, Xander started toward the doors of the hospital wing, only to pause when he heard someone calling his name. "Mister Harris!"

Suppressing an automatic grimace at being referred to by his surname, Xander turned to face the woman striding quickly toward him. It was the older lady that had stood up for Angel in Dumbledore's meeting. Crap, he couldn't remember her name—McGuiness? McGoogle? He tried to arrange his features into a more welcoming expression. "Yes, ma'am?" he said in his most polite tone.

She paused in front of him, giving him a piercing look that seemed to see everything. "Sit in your chair," she commanded, "before you fall down."

He wanted to argue—he wasn't that weak!—but he suddenly became aware of his hands trembling at his side as he fought to stand up straight. Defeated, he plopped himself into his chair. She gave him a single nod of approval. "Would you mind coming with me? I'd like to discuss your situation."

He was a bit surprised she was asking; she seemed more like the type to give orders than to make requests. Pushing back his first impulse to ask if Angel could come, he said, "Sure."

She waved her wand, and his wheelchair began to push itself. Xander twisted around, curiously watching floor go by. "This magic thing is just so cool," he breathed.

He could have sworn her lips twitched, just for a moment. "Indeed."

The trip was made in silence, and Xander tried not to fidget. It felt a bit like being called to the principal's office. He tried to calm himself with the reminder that McGoogle was on Angel's side, which made her on _his_ side, too… probably. Unless she'd been close enough to hear their last conversation.

Finally, they paused in front of a portrait, which opened after she muttered a password. Xander curiously looked around the room as he entered. "Is this your office?"

It was probably a stupid question, and judging from the look on her face, McGoogle agreed. "Yes." She waved her wand again, directing Xander's chair to a spot across from her desk while she took a seat behind it. Once seated, she studied Xander long enough that he scrunched his face uncomfortably. "I'm not certain I ever introduced myself to you," she said at length. "I apologize for the lapse."

Xander shrugged. "I know you worked with Angel before, and he trusts you. That's a pretty darn good introduction."

"Except that it doesn't tell you my name," she pointed out.

"Well, no. And we all know roses smell bad without their names, or whatever. Not that you're a rose, you're a person! I mean—"

"My name is Minerva McGonagall," she said, mercifully cutting off his babble. "I'm the deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts."

Xander bit his lip. Deputy Headmistress meant she was probably on Dumbledore's side in everything. He felt a bit of his trust in her fade away.

If McGonagall noticed his expression change, she didn't mention it. "Do you know what 'splinching' means?"

Xander wrinkled his nose, wondering why she was making up words and what it had to do with him. "Splinching?" he repeated. "Is that when you are exploring in a cave?"

She gave him a narrow-eyed look as if she couldn't decide if he was kidding. "I believe you are referring to spelunking. Splinching is a wizarding phenomenon." She folded her hands on the desktop and regarded him sternly over her glasses. "Wizards are capable of something called apparition, instantaneous travel from one place to another. When a wizard apparates without proper concentration, he runs the risk of splinching, or leaving pieces of himself behind."

That definitely sounded bad. "Pieces of himself, like a sock?" Xander gulped. "Or, like a foot?"

McGonagall's gaze was unflinching. "There have been people who have splinched themselves entirely in half. Splinching can be fatal."

Xander felt himself turn a bit green at the mental image called up by her words. "Okay, ew." He hesitated. "Not to be rude, but why the lesson in gross wizarding problems?"

Something flickered through her hard eyes, gone before he could identify it. "Are you aware of how you escaped Malfoy?"

Xander opened his mouth, and paused. "He kept coming closer, saying things. He showed me… I wanted to get away. I wanted to make him _stop_." He shivered, even though the room was warm. "What did I do?"

"You apparated yourself, Mister Giles, Mister Potter, and Angel from Malfoy's location to near Hogsmeade. I imagine you were aiming for Hogwarts but missed your mark." McGonagall regarded him sternly, peering over the top of her glasses. When she spoke, her voice was weary. "Need I provide you with a list of what else might have gone wrong?"

Xander shook his head numbly. No, she didn't need to do that, not when he could see it himself. Blood and bone everywhere, just like Lucius had showed him, except this time it would have been himself, Harry, Giles… and Angel.

Blood and bones and ashes.

And he hadn't _meant_ to do anything. How could he stop himself when he kept losing touch with reality, when only Angel's touch seemed strong enough to keep him tethered to the here and now?

He looked at McGonagall, and realized he didn't have a choice but to trust her. She might be on Dumbledore's side, but at least she was telling him the truth. And he could feel the truth in her words, almost taste the ghost of memory on his tongue. He took a slow, shaky breath. "What do I do?"

At the slight smile she gave him, he realized this was the response she was hoping to receive. "What _we_ will do," she corrected, "is prepare you. I am ready to teach, Mister Harris. Are you ready to learn?"

There was only one way he could reply. "Only if you promise to call me Xander."

She nodded, businesslike. "Very well. Xander. Our first step will be to get you a wand."

A wand. For him. Xander barely stopped himself from snorting in amusement, and suddenly found himself missing Willow with an almost physical ache. "I have a friend who won't know what to make of this wand-waving business," he said, almost to himself.

"Ah, Miss Rosenberg," McGonagall said knowingly. "I suppose we shall find out soon enough."

"Right." Xander blinked. "Wait, what?"

* * *

The moment she stepped onto the grounds of Hogwarts, Willow fell to her knees, her hair rapidly cycling black and white before slowly bleeding back to red. Radiating impatience, her companion stood nearby without trying to assist. "Are you quite finished?" he drawled.

Willow stared at the ground and shook her head. "Sorry if my sudden collapse is putting you behind schedule," she muttered. She took a deep breath, and pushed herself to her feet. "How do you get anything done, surrounded by this much magic?"

"It's much less noticeable to our kind," Snape replied smugly.

Willow lifted her chin. "Then _your kind_ doesn't pay enough attention." Five minutes with the man, and she was tempted to turn him into a rat—she couldn't understand how he had managed to go this long around Faith and Dawn without so much as a single bruise.

He gave her a contemptuous glance, his eyes black and cold. "We're aware of more than you think. You, of all people, should not doubt this."

Willow wrapped her arms around herself, feeling suddenly exposed. "If you know what I can do, why are you trying so hard to make me mad?"

He smiled unpleasantly. "Because _you_ do not know what _I_ can do. You do not know what this _castle_ can do." He stepped close enough that she could see the pores on his sallow skin. "Do not make the mistake of thinking us unprepared for the chaos you bring, Rosenberg. Do you think you would be allowed on these grounds without proper planning?" With a sharp jerk of his chin, he gestured toward the castle. "Let us go. I have things to do that do not involve playing nursemaid."

She stared for a long moment, longingly imagining him with a tail and paws, before turning and storming toward the castle. "You're just lucky I have more important things to worry about than a pissing contest," she said, under her breath.

"Aren't I, though," he drawled, quite clearly unimpressed. Willow took a deep breath, thought of Xander, and pushed onward.

* * *

When Angel entered the Hospital Wing, he was thinking only of getting away from Xander. It was a pleasant surprise when he saw the room's only occupant.

"Buffy," he said warmly, moving close enough to give her a slightly awkward hug. She tilted her face for a kiss, which he placed on her cheek. Somehow, it felt wrong to greet her as he had the last time they had met, before the final showdown with the First.

If she thought his greeting was odd, she didn't show it. "Angel," she said cheerfully, smiling at him. "How are you? Formed any weird, mystical bonds with my friends lately?"

He frowned, defensive, before he realized she was kidding. "Seriously," she continued, "How'd that happen? Dumbles wasn't real big on the splainy. He said he'd tell us more, but…" She shrugged. "Things got bad."

"Bad," Angel echoed, studying her closely. "How are you, really? Being held under _Cruciatus_ for that long can have serious effects."

"For a Slayer? Please," she scoffed. "I was back to normal as soon as I woke up. Too bad the nazi nurse here doesn't believe me. I'm about ready to stage a jailbreak."

Angel held up his hands, backing away. "Don't look at me for help. If she wants you to stay, there's probably a reason."

"You wouldn't say that if it were you," she grumbled. "But you can't distract me that easily, you big vampire, you! How are you and Xander?"

Something uncomfortable in her expression raised a warning. "You heard our conversation outside," he realized.

She shrugged. "Can't turn off these senses, Angel. You know that."

He looked away. "I don't want to talk about it." Not with her, anyway.

"Okay," she said softly. "Just… We're good, you and me. Okay? You don't have to worry about me. I mean, yeah, I'm super-shocked girl, right here. You and Xander, didn't see that coming." She shrugged, the motion lacking her usual grace. "But I wasn't expecting you to wait for me. I think I stopped waiting for that a long time ago."

The words felt like they should hurt, but they didn't. Somehow Angel wasn't surprised. "We've changed. It happens."

They stood in a slightly awkward silence for a long moment before the doors to the wing opened. Angel looked up, expecting to see Xander entering, and blinked. "Willow?"

"Where is he?" Willow asked, a bit breathless. "Is he okay?"

Buffy hurried over and gave her best friend a hug. "Xander? He wasn't out there?" She exchanged a glance with Angel.

"No. Was he supposed to be?" Willow's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Did you _lose_ him?"

"We didn't lose him," Angel said, a bit offended. "We just—"

A put upon sigh interrupted him, and everyone turned to the man standing just inside the wing. "He is likely with Professor McGonagall," Snape told them, his voice sharp and impatient. "She had mentioned a desire to speak to him as soon as he was awake."

Willow put her hands on hips. "She's going to have to get in line." Pointedly turning away from Snape, she gave Angel an imploring look. "Help me find Xander, please?" Her voice caught as she continued. "I won't… I can't know he's okay until I see him."

Uncomfortable in the face of her emotion, Angel patted her on the shoulder. "He's fine," he said as reassuringly as possible, "but I'll help you find him."

* * *

Xander and McGonagall were halfway back to the hospital wing, planning a trip to get him a wand, when their conversation was interrupted by a familiar voice. "Xander!"

Xander looked up, and could feel himself beaming as he held open his arms. "Willow! What are you doing over there when you could be giving me a hug?"

With a matching grin, she ran over to do just that. "You're in a wheelchair," she said worried. "Angel told me you were okay!" She gave the vampire a glare.

Xander glanced at Angel, noticing him for the first time, and offered him a shy smile. "Angel was right. I'm just kind of running on empty. This magic stuff takes a lot out of a guy."

"It will not always do so," McGonagall assured him. She let go of his wheelchair. "I will leave you with your friends." Nodding a greeting to Willow and Angel, she turned back the way she came.

"See you tomorrow!" Xander cheerfully called after her.

"What's tomorrow?" Angel asked. Xander thought he sounded a bit suspicious, which was odd.

"We're getting me a wand!" He winked at Willow. "Can you believe it?" He paused. "Oh, right. Deadboy, you and me and McG, we're going to get a wand tomorrow. You okay with that?"

Angel looked a bit more relaxed once he realized he was being included. "The sooner the better."

Their eyes locked for a long moment, broken by a giggle from Willow. Xander jerked his gaze to her, feeling as if he had been caught red-handed. Other than a smirk, Willow seemed content to let the moment pass. "I can't believe you're going to be using a wand!"

"And flying a broom," Xander added helpfully.

Angel moved behind Xander and began pushing his chair. Willow obediently followed beside Xander, seizing his hand as if to prove to herself that he was really there. "So…" she said, obviously searching for a topic she could discuss with Angel there. "I hear you have a brother. And he's not evil!"

"He saved my life, I think," Xander replied. He didn't really remember much other than pain, but he had a vague recollection of Draco's voice stopping the agony. "He looks just like his father. Our father," he corrected himself. "It's kind of creepy." Looking for a more cheerful topic, he added, "Did you know he's also my cousin? I come from one of _those_ families."

Willow's brow furrowed, then her expression cleared. "Right, your mothers were sisters!" she exclaimed, and of course she would know right away what he meant. She shook her head. "You could be on Jerry Springer."

"Bite your tongue," Xander gasped, only slightly exaggerating his horror at the thought.

Her laughter quickly faded, and her eyes darkened. Recognizing the signs of Willow thinking deep thoughts, Xander sat in silence for several minutes, waiting for her to talk. He was grateful, but unsurprised, that Angel was willing to do the same.

When she finally spoke, her voice was small. "I'm sorry I wasn't there. When you were taken, or when Giles was taken."

He gave her hand a squeeze. "You can't be everywhere, Wills."

"You're here now," Angel said quietly. "That's what matters."

Willow nodded, and they made the rest of the trip in comfortable silence.


	16. 15: Wands and Their Owners

**Chapter 15 – Wands and Their Owners**

_~~1944, Ollivander's, Diagon Alley~~_

_The pair that entered his shop were not his typical customers, that much was obvious. They stood side by side, appearing at ease but for the wariness in their eyes that identified them as the soldiers they had become in the past few months. Their very presence was a threat, but not to him. Rather, they brought hints of the future on their shoulders._

Garrick Ollivander nodded a greeting. "Minerva McGonagall," he stated. "Red oak and phoenix feather, eleven inches." His gaze moved to the other figure, studying him closely. "And Angel, the vampire with a soul." The vampire wasn't what he had expected, but still, Garrick had hopes. "Albus told me you have need of my services."

"Yes," McGonagall said curtly. "Regretfully, my wand was broken in an… altercation on the Continent." She looked away, and Angel moved closer as if in comfort. When she met Garrick's eyes once more, however, he found no sign of uneasiness. "I find myself in need of a new one."

There was a story there, to be certain, but Garrick had no desire for details. "Indeed. Let me see…" he said, running through his collection in his mind as he moved toward the boxes lining his walls.

Perhaps half an hour later, Minerva was the owner of a new wand (fir and dragon heartstring, nine and one half inches, stiff, good for transfiguration). She made to leave, Angel following behind, when Garrick spoke.

"Angel," he said, halting both of them in their tracks. "Might I have a word?"

The vampire turned to Minerva, and they seemed to have a conversation without saying a word. After a moment, Angel turned to Garrick and nodded. "Of course," he agreed, his voice betraying a hint of curiosity. He moved back to the counter, his posture loose as if expecting a fight.

Having no illusions that Angel wouldn't be telling Minerva everything the moment they left his shop, Garrick made no particular effort at discretion. He took a moment, all too aware of the vampire's eyes on him as he chose his words carefully. "There are three materials I use for the cores of my wands," he began. "Unicorn hair, dragon heartstring, and phoenix feather."

Angel nodded, his expression a mixture of confusion and impatience. Garrick continued. "I have flashes of knowledge related to my craft, and this I know: a day will come when a wizard will need something else. He will be special, his circumstances odd, and a bond will require a different core altogether."

Angel shifted his weight, his face going carefully blank. "What do you want from me?" he asked bluntly.

"I think you already know. The core this wizard needs will have to come from you, the vampire with a soul." Seeing Angel hesitate, he played his trump card. "With this gift, much good will be done."

Angel glanced over his shoulder at Minerva, then turned back to Garrick. "Put that way, how can I refuse?"

* * *

Getting to leave Hogwarts was a bit of a production.

Having finally been deemed well enough to leave the hospital wing, Xander had happily spent the night in his own rooms. He was getting dressed when he heard a knock on the door, and opened it to find a crowd of Sunnydalers loitering outside.

Xander grinned. "Well, if it isn't Willow, Buffy, Faith, Dawn, Giles, and Angel!" he cried. "Come on in!"

"Oh, we don't want to come in," Willow said, her chin tilted at a determined angle. "We're here because we're going _out_. With you." She frowned. "Not as in 'going out with you'; we don't want to date you—"

"Speak for yourself," Faith muttered, giving Xander a dirty smile. No one but him seemed to notice the way Angel's face darkened at that comment.

"Anyway," Willow said loudly, pointedly ignoring Faith, "what I meant is that we want to go with to the wizard town."

"Diagon Alley," Giles supplied, giving Xander a hopeful look.

Xander groaned. "Et tu, Giles?" He met Angel's eyes across the crowd, and saw a hint of a smile on the vampire's lips. "Look, guys, do you really think a giant group of muggles wandering through Wizardville—"

"Diagon Alley," Giles corrected.

"—would be a good idea when they're in the middle of a war?"

Buffy gave him a hard look, her hands drifting to her hips. "You don't think we can take care of ourselves?"

It was tempting to point out that they hadn't done so well the last time they had a run in with wizards, but Xander was quite fond of his extremities, and didn't want Buffy twisting anything off. He settled for glancing at Angel, and could tell he was thinking the same thing. "I'll have plenty of people protecting me," Xander said instead. "Angel's coming, and McGonagall."

"And Harry," Angel added.

"And Harry," Xander agreed without missing a beat. "You see? And all we're doing is going to look at wands, which Harry says can take forever and be very boring. You'd be better off staying here."

They looked unconvinced. Xander gave Angel a pleading look, and the vampire spoke. "We want to fly under the radar here. How could we do that if there are ten of us?"

"We don't want to endanger Xander," came a voice from behind Angel. Everyone turned to see McGonagall standing impatiently. "I'm certain you agree. Xander, Angel, it is time to go."

The Sunnydale group seemed a bit stunned at being so summarily dismissed. Angel and Xander took advantage of their momentary surprise, and skedaddled.

* * *

Other than Hogwarts, Diagon Alley was Xander's first experience with wizarding culture. The biggest lesson he learned from the visit was that the wizarding world was indeed at war.

Diagon Alley was scarcely more than a ghost town when Xander, Angel, McGonagall and Harry arrived. Many of the magnificent shops were closed, and those that were open were empty. The few shoppers they encountered on their trip looked pinched and worried, hurrying through the streets while casting anxious looks over their shoulders.

Harry shook his head when he noticed Xander watching the passerby. "Lucius attacked a wizarding town just a couple of days ago," he said softly. "It's not usually quite this vacant."

Xander was about to reply, when the word "Malfoy" caught his eye. He hurried over to an abandoned newsstand, picking up a stray newspaper, only to drop it when he realized the pictures moved. "Wizards," he muttered fondly, bending to pick it up when he realized Angel had already done so. He took back the paper with a smile of thanks.

_DRACO MALFOY NEW HEAD OF FAMILY LINE_, the headline screamed.

_A reliable source has informed the _Prophet_ that Draco Malfoy has taken over leadership of the Malfoy line from his father, Lucius. The younger Malfoy believes this proves his innocence, but this author finds it more likely merely to indicate another plot afoot by father and son. Dumbledore may vouch for the younger Malfoy as much as he wants, but the public remains unconvinced._

"What's that saying?" Amelia Arbor, a muggleborn housewife, commented when asked about the Malfoys. "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree? That explains the whole rotten family to a 'T'."

In other Malfoy-related news, our source confirms the existence of an illegitimate heir to the Malfoy fortune. Referred to as Alexander Harris, he is the result of an illicit affair between Lucius and an unknown witch. His allegiance remains unknown, although his sudden appearance is suspicious—

The paper was suddenly torn from his hands. Xander looked up to see Harry set fire to the parchment with his wand. "Don't believe what you read," he said, sounding unbelievably weary. "Wizarding journalism is a joke."

Xander tried to smile, but the expression felt strange on his face. "Guess that explains why Draco didn't come with us." He hesitated. "How did they know all that? About Draco being the Head of the line, and about me?"

"That Auror," Angel murmured, sounding murderous. "The witch. I'm sure she went right to the _Prophet_."

"Unfortunately, that does seem likely," McGonagall agreed, exchanging a glance with Angel.

"Yeah," Harry concurred tiredly. He changed the subject. "Ollivander's is right over there."

Ollivander's, where he would be getting his very own wand. Xander's life never stopped being weird. Affecting an energy he didn't really feel, he bounded over to the small storefront, letting the others follow in his wake.

Once he entered the store, it took a moment for his eyes to adjust from the bright summer day to the dim lighting inside. By the time he was able to make out a man at the counter, everyone else had made it in.

"Professor McGonagall, Mister Potter, Angel," the man said, his oddly pale eyes never leaving Xander even as he greeted the others. "And Alexander Harris. You can call me Ollivander. I know exactly what it is that you seek."

Xander swallowed. "Well, um. Good. Since this is a wand store, and I need a wand." Harry tried to hide a snort of laughter under a cough.

Ollivander's gaze finally turned away, much to Xander's relief, as he focused his attention on Angel. "I told you much good will be done," he said, and the vampire started.

"Wait," Angel said, surprised. "You still have that?"

"Have what?" Xander asked, more than a bit curious. Why would Angel have met with a wand maker before?

Ollivander moved to the back of his shop, reaching for a box at the very bottom of a very tall pile. Xander held his breath, but the pile remained steady even as Ollivander removed it. "This," he said simply, moving uncomfortably close and opening the box to reveal a long wand with an angular handpiece. "Try it," he encouraged, sounding eager enough that Xander hesitated, glancing at Angel for reassurance.

Angel sighed, looking a bit trapped, but his eyes were warm as he looked at Xander. "Go ahead. It won't hurt you."

Taking Angel's word for it, Xander hesitantly reached for the wand. The moment his fingers touched wood, he felt a familiar warmth as a golden beam surrounded him. Xander's eyes fell shut as he felt Angel, suddenly everywhere, touching him with large, capable hands. He felt safe for the first time in years, as well as terribly aroused; he could only hope the others didn't notice.

Trying to pull himself together, Xander took a shuddering breath and opened his eyes, his gaze unerringly meeting Angel's. There was a bright, possessive light in Angel's eyes that made him ache with a fresh need, and Xander reluctantly looked away, his breath harsh in the surprised silence. "Holy shit," he managed, his voice a bit rough. "What was that?"

"That was your new wand," Ollivander replied, sounding ridiculously pleased with himself. "Yew and hair of a souled vampire, twelve inches. Good for dueling."

"Souled vampire… my wand has your hair in it?" Xander squeaked, looking back at Angel. "When… what… _how_?"

"It was made the last time I was here," Angel replied, sounding as unsettled as Xander felt. He shrugged. "I thought it would be gone by now, but I guess I'm just not a hot commodity."

"Any hotter and my pants would melt off," Xander muttered under his breath, forgetting about vampire hearing. Angel's eyes narrowed in a predatory manner, but thankfully no one else seemed to hear him.

"You made a wand with vampire hair?" Harry asked curiously. "I thought I tried all your wands when I came to get mine."

"It only felt that way, I'm afraid," Ollivander replied. "Although I must admit, finding your wand was a trial unlike what most experience." Harry seemed oddly pleased by that.

McGonagall cleared her throat. "I'm afraid we do not have time to socialize," she said, sounding almost regretful. She gave Xander a pointed look, and he jumped slightly.

"Right! Money," he mumbled, digging around in his borrowed robes for the bag holding his money, newly changed to wizarding currency. He fumbled around for a moment, then gave up and handed Ollivander the whole bag. "Just grab whatever you need, okay?"

McGonagall sighed in exasperation, but Harry and Angel laughed. Xander ignored them all, as did Ollivander, who carefully picked out the coins needed. Before he gave back the pouch, he paused, studying Xander until he shifted uncomfortably.

"You know what they say, about yew wands," Ollivander said.

"Um, can't say that I do." Xander eyed his money bag hopefully, but Ollivander made no move to hand it over. Xander sighed. "What do they say?"

"A yew wand is rare," Ollivander replied, still staring at Xander, unblinking. "Not for the meek, nor those who lack power. A good wand for dueling, as I said before, and cursing in general." He leaned forward, and Xander fought the urge to back away. Speaking softly so the others could not hear, he added, "There are those who believe yew wands make Dark wizards."

Thinking of his dark heritage, Xander swallowed, his hand convulsively tightening on his wand. He felt Angel approach, hovering at his side, and it gave him the courage to ask, "What do you think?"

Ollivander smiled, or grimaced—it was hard to tell which. "A wand chooses the wizard, but it still does your bidding. You choose your path, Mister Harris." He held out the money bag, and Xander grabbed it. Before Ollivander let go, he added, "As well as dueling and curses, yew is strong in protection spells. Remember that."

Xander stumbled back in surprise when Ollivander finally let go of the bag, and managed a weak smile. "I'll remember. Goodbye," he said faintly, before he seized Angel's hand and fairly ran from the store.

He remembered little of the return to Hogwarts. Just as they were about to enter the castle doors, Harry grabbed his arm. "Xander, wait," he said quietly.

McGonagall paused. "Meet me in my office this afternoon, Xander, and we will work out a lesson schedule." At his nod, she swept away.

Angel looked like he wanted to stay, but Xander waved him off. Once they were alone outside the castle, he turned to Harry. "What's up?"

Harry shrugged uncomfortably, looking away. "You've heard of Voldemort, right?"

Xander blinked at the unexpected topic. "The big bad before Lucius, yeah? Your big bad, so I hear."

"Right." Harry ran a hand through his hair, sighing. "My wand and his, they shared a core. 'Brother wands', they're called. It saved my life once, and my wand has been nothing but great."

"Okay…" Xander said slowly. "Good for you."

Harry shook his head, finally meeting Xander's eyes. "What I'm saying is, I got a whole speech from Ollivander when I got my wand, too. And it's not… just because you have a yew wand doesn't mean you'll be the next Voldemort, just like me having the a feather from the same phoenix doesn't."

Xander's face fell. "Voldemort had a yew wand?"

"Ollivander didn't tell you that?" Harry said, surprised. "I couldn't really hear what he was saying, but you looked a mite skittish, so I assumed—"

"Yeah, well, only asses assume!" Xander snapped. "Or something like that." He pulled out his wand, studying it. "It doesn't look like something that would make me dark, and when I first touched it, it felt so…"

"I know the feeling." Probably not, Xander thought, remembering the sharp bite of arousal, but kept his mouth shut. "It won't, okay?" Harry said, shrugging. "That's what I wanted to say. It's just a wand. It can't tell the future."

Xander nodded. He wasn't sure if he believed what Harry was saying, not completely, anyway, but he felt better for having heard it. Harry nodded back, then turned to enter the castle. "Harry," Xander said impulsively, "why do you think Angel can feel my emotions but I can't sense his?"

Harry turned back around, looking a bit confused at the question. "Well, everybody sort of broadcasts their emotions, unless they're trained not to. That's why an empath can sense how most everybody's feeling. A connection like you have with Angel, I reckon you should be able to sense each other's emotions." He gave Xander a thoughtful look. "Are you blocking him?"

"The huh?" Xander replied eloquently. "I mean, I don't think so. Why would I be blocking him?"

Harry shrugged. "When empaths don't want to feel emotions, they block everybody. Maybe you can't feel Angel's emotions because you aren't letting him in." Seeing Xander had nothing to say to that, Harry headed inside.

Xander slumped against the castle wall, staring into the sunshine, and didn't go inside for a long time.


	17. 16: Reaching Out

**_A/N:_** _I've got an apology to make. As was pointed out in a review, I've left a pretty big plot hole in this story regarding how Angel is capable of walking in sunlight. This is addressed in this chapter-it should have been explained sooner, but I cut the scene that mentioned it because I didn't like the way it had turned out. Sorry!_

**Chapter 16 – Reaching Out**

Feeling the castle walls press against her, Faith headed to her new favorite place—the grounds. As she left the castle, she sensed someone nearby, and turned to see Xander. "Hey Xan," she said cheerfully, but Xander, deep in thought, gave no indication that he had heard. Faith shrugged. "Be that way," she muttered good-naturedly, and headed toward the castle gates at a jog.

After a circuit of the castle grounds (except the Forbidden Forest, which she would save for the night), she was surprised to return to the entrance and find Xander still there. This time, Faith knew better than to disturb him—unlike his thoughtful stillness earlier, he was now pacing back and forth, his face screwed up into a frown. Even as she watched, he suddenly stopped and sprinted inside.

Faith let out a low chuckle. She may have no idea what was going on, but she had the feeling it sucked to be a certain vampire right about now. Laughing again at her own pun, she wandered inside. Maybe somebody would be able to fill her in.

* * *

If asked, Angel would say he had returned to his rooms to read, but he had spent the last hour staring blankly at the page. Angel sighed. Even he had to admit that he was brooding.

Angel's reverie was interrupted when the portrait serving as his door informed him he had a visitor. Minerva had been shooting him curious looks on the way back to the castle, so he was expecting her face as he opened the door, only to be nearly bowled over as Xander pushed past him into the rooms.

"Hello, Xander. Do come in," he said pointedly, closing the door and leaning against it, arms crossed.

Xander ignored him in favor of pacing, seeming to have an internal argument over what to say. A bit more concerned, Angel moved close enough to place a hand on Xander's shoulder. "What's wrong?"

As soon as he felt Angel's touch, Xander stilled. "I talked to Harry," he replied.

Angel frowned, unable to separate the feelings he was receiving from Xander into anything sensible. He wished he could see Xander's face. "About…?"

Xander shrugged off Angel's hand and started pacing once more. "I can't sense your emotions because I'm not letting you in, he says. Letting you in! As if I could let you in any further when you already know how I feel." Xander waved his hands as he spoke, gesticulating wildly. "A month ago, you were just a part of my past. Okay, a part of my past I kept dreaming about, but still. You weren't _there_, with your brown eyes and your broad shoulders, and suddenly we're here and you're all I think about. You're all I think about, and you keep the scary away, and I can't stand the thought that maybe you don't feel the same way about me. Maybe I'll let your emotions in, and they won't be the same as mine."

He finally came to a stop, slowly turning to face Angel. "I reached out, somehow, you know. That was how this started. I felt these powers, somewhere inside, and I reached out. To you. And yeah, you reached back, but I don't know why. And maybe Harry's right, maybe I'm too scared to let you in all the way, but I started this! Don't you dare say I don't want it."

They stared at each other for a long moment, as Angel frantically tried to think of something to say. Feeling as if a wrong movement could scare Xander away, he slowly stepped closer. What could he say, after all of that, except the truth? "I hadn't thought of you, before this, either. Not often, anyway. But now we're here, and I know you, Xander, so much better than before. All I want is to keep you safe, to make you happy, to see you smile."

Xander bit his lip and looked at Angel from under his lashes. Angel swallowed hard. "That's sweet and all, Deadboy, but that's not what I'm talking about right now." He moved in, until they were so close Angel could feel Xander's breath on his cheek. "You _know_ what I felt, in Ollivander's today. You know what I want from you is more than safety or smiles." Angel froze, faced with everything he couldn't have, and Xander's breathing hitched. Xander stepped back. "It's okay, Angel. I know you don't feel the same."

Xander was halfway to the door before Angel recovered. He moved swiftly until he was right behind Xander, and crushed the human against him, his back to Angel's front. "You think I don't want what you want?" he whispered hoarsely. "You think I don't feel what you feel? Xander, I _ache_ for you." He placed a greedy, open-mouthed kiss at the base of Xander's throat, and Xander trembled. Arousal spun between them until Angel wasn't sure what he was feeling from Xander and what came from himself. "I would take you, claim you, make you mine, if I could." He kissed along Xander's throat, unable to stop himself, and, with a moan of his name, Xander spun around. Their mouths found each other immediately, opening to each other as the kiss quickly turned desperate. A hazy feeling lingered in Angel's mind, the sensation that this was somehow wrong, but it was smothered by taste and feel.

He pushed forward, guiding Xander until his back hit the wall. Xander's hands were tangled in his hair, and Angel slipped his leg between Xander's, rocking their hips together in a way that made Xander cry out against his mouth. Angel drank down the sound, his hands tracing patterns on Xander's chest, until, like a splash of cold water, he remembered what they had forgotten.

"Xander," Angel mumbled against the man's lips. "Xander, we can't." With a groan of utter reluctance, he leaned back, bracing his hands on the wall and studying the kiss-swollen lips with regret. "The curse," he managed, and those two words were enough to bring awareness back to Xander's eye.

"The curse," Xander echoed, carefully moving his hands from Angel's hair, caressing his face along the way until they reached a resting place on Angel's shoulders. "I should probably let go, then," Xander commented at length.

Angel wanted to say no, to tell Xander to hold on forever, but he stepped back instead, feeling a pang of loss as Xander's hands slipped away. They stared at each other until Xander looked away. "I'm just going to…" he jerked his thumb toward the door instead of finishing the sentence. "I need to breathe."

"Right," Angel murmured. "Go, breathe." He managed a small smile. "I'll be here."

Moving slowly, Xander headed toward the door. He was almost there when he spun on his heel, and walked swiftly back to Angel. Before Angel could speak, Xander kissed him firmly. "Okay," he said. "Now I'm really going."

"Right," Angel agreed. "To breathe." He almost added, _is that what they're calling it these days?_ but managed to keep that to himself.

"Right," Xander echoed. "So… bye." He paused, clearly not wanting to leave. "I'll see you later?"

Feeling a ridiculously fond smile on his lips, Angel nodded. "Yes."

"Okay. That's good. Seeing each other is good. So, I'll just go and we'll see each other later." Xander gave a little wave, looked at his hand in disgust as if it made the motion without his consent, and left.

As soon as Xander was out the door, Angel collapsed into the nearest chair with an affectionate smile that slowly turned into a frown. Not five minutes had passed before the man in the portrait cleared his throat. "Ah, sir?" the painting said, sounding amused. "Someone else is here to see you."

Angel's head snapped up. "Xander?" he asked, not sure he could control himself if Xander had come back so quickly.

"No, sir," the painting said, shaking his head. "It's Professor McGonagall."

Minerva. Of course.

"And Professor Snape," the portrait added before he could respond. Angel growled softly, and the main in the painting cowered.

Forcing a smile, Angel replied, "Let them in."

The portrait swung open, and the professors swept inside. Minerva gave him him a quick look that missed nothing, but waited until they were seated with the door closed before she spoke. "Xander stopped by?"

"How could you tell?" Angel paused, remembering what he had been doing just minutes before. "Don't answer that."

Minerva smirked. "Excellent choice." Next to her, Snape let out a disgusted snort, but she easily ignored him.

Giving Snape a hard glance, Angel pointedly asked, "Is there something I can help you with, Professor?"

Seemingly unaffected by Angel's glare, Snape replied, "The Headmaster wished I stop by and examine you. He wanted to confirm you have experienced no side effects from the potion you have been using to walk in daylight."

The sunlight potion was one of the benefits of returning to wizarding society, although Angel sincerely doubted Dumbledore would be willing to spare the considerable expense in peacetime. There had been times in the intervening years that Angel had wished he had a bottle or two, but it hadn't been feasible. Besides, he considered it part of his penance to be confined to darkness, and only agreed to enter the light to protect Xander.

Angel eyed Snape. "You have been brewing that?" he asked, surprised. The potion was incredibly difficult to make; it was likely that those capable of doing so could be counted on one hand.

Snape lifted his chin. "Indeed." He smirked. "Does that alarm you?"

Angel smiled, coldly dismissive. "Not in the least."

Giving them both an exasperated look, Minerva cleared her throat. "Angel does not appear to be suffering any ill effects," she commented. "Perhaps you should advise Professor Dumbledore."

Snape turned to Minerva, and they seemed to have a wordless argument. "Perhaps I shall," Snape snapped, rising from his chair and straightening his robes with sharp movements. He stalked out of the room.

Once he was gone, Angel raised an eyebrow at Minerva. "He grows more charming with each meeting."

Minerva rolled her eyes. "And you've been a paragon of good manners, I am sure."

Since he couldn't exactly argue that, he changed the subject. "You're concerned by what happened in Ollivander's," he stated.

"Not just that." Minerva leaned forward, studying him intently. "I couldn't hear Xander's conversation with Ollivander, but I can guess at its content. There is darkness in Xander, a ruthlessness that I've only glimpsed. I'm certain you know it better than I. And great power, too. It's a dangerous combination."

Angel frowned, surprised by her observation. "Xander will do what he must to protect his friends," he said slowly, "but he also can be trusted to do what is needed to keep the world safe."

"Are you certain?" she asked softly. "Even if you, his anchor, were gone? You've felt his magic, Angel—a wizard could spend a lifetime dabbling in Dark Arts and not taint his core the way the Hellmouth has."

"So we teach him control," Angel argued. "Even now, with no training, he fights the darkness. He had every reason to kill Lucius, and yet when he lost control, his first priority was to get us to safety. Yes, in his first experience with wizards, he killed. If necessary, he would do it again, just as you or I would. But I know how it haunts him. I feel it." He studied Minerva. "Is this concern coming from you, or from your boss?"

Minerva's lips thinned. "My concern stems from the actions my _boss_ would take, should he find Xander to be a threat," she said sharply.

Angel froze, going entirely, inhumanly still. "And what would you do, Min? If Albus decides Xander is too Dark to save, will you help us, or follow him?"

"It's not that simple—"

"It's not that complicated!" he growled, jumping to his feet. "Albus may feel guilty for never stopping Lucius when he had the chance, but he won't gain absolution by sacrificing Xander! Xander isn't just a pawn in his games, Minerva, he's more important than that! He's _everything_ to me!"

Minerva stood, glaring at him. "As Albus is to me!" she shouted. Shocked, Angel paused. Their words seemed to echo in the suddenly silent room, and he could see the moment she realized she had spoken aloud. She paled, swaying to one side, and he moved quickly to catch her.

"Oh, Minerva," he murmured, guiding her back into her chair. "Albus, really? Does he know?" Angel had always gotten the very definite impression that Albus Dumbledore had no romantic interest in women.

"Who can tell what that man knows," Minerva commented, sounding defeated. She leaned against Angel's shoulder as he paused, crouched at her side. "I know nothing will come of it. I know there are many more suitable men in the world. I just…"

"I know," he said softly, slipping an arm around her shoulders.

They remained that way for a long moment before Minerva stirred. "Still," she murmured, little more than a whisper, "you can count on me to do the right thing."

Angel squeezed her shoulders. "I know that, too," he whispered back to her.

* * *

Albus followed Kingsley Shacklebolt through the muggle house, wrinkling his nose at the scent of blood hanging heavy in the air. "It appeared to be an ordinary attack," Kingsley said, quiet in the face of carnage. "A bit messier than Lucius generally prefers, but nothing exceptional. Until we found her." He paused at the end of the hall; a piece of construction paper was taped to the nearest door, proclaiming this to be 'Annie's Room – Little brothers NOT ALLOWED!' "I hate the ones with children," he muttered, then ushered Albus inside.

The blood spatter clashed with the pink wallpaper, Albus noted dimly, his mind focusing on minutiae in an attempt to avoid the mutilated corpse on the floor and the translucent figure in the corner. With a heavy heart, he turned to the newly created ghost. "Annie, my dear girl. I am so sorry."

Annie looked at him with dull eyes. "Professor. You're going to ask what happened, aren't you." It wasn't a question.

"I'm afraid so," Albus said gently. "You may be able to help us capture the ones who did this, and bring them to justice."

Annie nodded, and Albus felt a pang of loss for this brave girl who would never see her second year at Hogwarts, another child he had been unable to save. He pushed aside the feeling with ruthless efficiency; the last thing Annie needed was to see him mourning her future.

"We were eating dinner when the door exploded," Annie started, her voice trembling. "They ran inside and hit Mom and Dad with a spell right away. I thought they were stunned, so I slid under the table and crawled to them, but they weren't breathing, just staring into space, and I knew… I didn't know it worked like that, a couple words and they're gone." She wrapped her arms around herself, and Albus ached to comfort her, but his words were useless and touch wasn't possible.

"We were all hiding under the table, my sister and brothers and me," she continued. "They laughed at us, and levitated the table out of the way. We were all too scared to move. Then _he_ pushed the others out of the way, and started talking." She looked away. "He knew, Professor. That sometimes I… see things. Before they happen. He knew how my dreams come true."

Albus blinked, the only sign of surprise he allowed himself. The girl had been under his nose for a school year, and yet he hadn't known she was a Seer. How could Lucius have known what had slipped past him? He shook himself from his thoughts as she kept on speaking.

"I told him that if he wanted me to help him, I wouldn't do it, and he laughed. He said I couldn't be very powerful, if I hadn't seen this coming, and anyway he had other plans for me. Then he said Macnair, Bulstrode, and Parkinson would help him, and the others could play." At last, she met his eyes, and the horror in her gaze cut into his soul. "They took me in here, and closed the door, but I could still hear the screaming."

Albus held her gaze, keeping nothing but sympathy on his face. "What happened then?"

She rubbed her arms as if trying to wipe away the silvery tracks of blood staining her skin. "They held me down, and _he_ pulled out a dagger. He… he carved runes into my arms and legs, and chanted something in another language. I couldn't understand him, but it sounded like he was saying the same thing over and over, until he stabbed me in the chest." A tear ran down her cheek. "Then there was nothing."

"That's a very good job, Annie," Albus said quietly. "Thank you so much for your help." He paused. "You told me _he_ was repeating himself at the end. By any chance, do you remember what it sounded like he was saying?"

Annie closed her eyes, thinking. "Destructrice," she said at length, stumbling over the syllables.

A slight narrowing of his eyes was Albus' only reaction. "Thank you." At least, he thought to himself, having Rupert Giles in his castle would prove useful from a researching perspective. He turned to leave, only to hear Annie's plaintive voice. "Professor?"

"Yes?" he asked, turning back immediately to see her crying in earnest.

"Was it," she stammered, "I mean, he said I should've- Was it my fault?" She was sobbing, bent over with the force of it. "I didn't _see_ this, Professor! Why didn't I see?"

Albus moved closer, holding out a hand as if to touch her, but knowing he could not. "It is not your fault, _never_ your fault, my dear Annie." He took a deep breath, his own eyes filled with tears he refused to shed. "No one can explain the gifts the Sight gives those chosen, but rarely do they see the time of their death. You could not have seen this."

Looking away, he added in a dark voice, "And I promise you, those who have done this will pay for their crimes. I shall see to it."


	18. 17: Lessons

_**A/N:**__ Sorry for the delay, y'all! We're reaching, if not the final stretch, definitely the curve before it. I may have taken some liberties with the details of Angel's curse, but if you can bear with me I'd appreciate it._

**Chapter 17 - Lessons**

The feather leapt from the desk and hovered a foot from Xander's head.

"I did it!" he shouted, waving his wand for emphasis…, which caused the feather to shoot upwards and slam into a ceiling beam, puffing into pieces.

He glanced at McGonagall; her expression of thin-lipped impatience was not encouraging. "I did it for a little while," he said, giving her his best puppy-dog look.

"We discussed extraneous wand movements, did we not?" she asked, sounding a bit exasperated.

Xander sighed. His first lesson was not off to a promising start.

"If we had Angel here to assist you in regulating your emotions and magic—" McGonagall started, only to be cut off.

"No, no, no, we don't need to bother him!" Xander said, not even bothering to hide his desperation. After their kiss the night before, he was in no hurry to see the vampire. "We're good without him! No, we're _great_! Look, see? _Wingardium Leviosa_," he chanted, waving at a nearby book.

It exploded.

In stony silence, McGonagall flicked a shred of paper out away from her glasses. She waved her wand, and Xander blinked as a silvery-gray cat seemed to erupt from the tip. Turning to the cat, McGonagall said calmly, "Angel's presence is requested in my classroom, at his earliest convenience." The cat bounded away.

Xander grinned despite the way his stomach swooped at Angel's name. "That was cool." He thought about asking if he could learn how to do it, then decided he didn't want to press his luck. That looked a lot fancier than the Levitation Charm he kept bungling.

The faintest hint of a smile touched McGonagall's eyes, though her mouth remained a thin line. "It is one of our more visually appealing spells," she agreed. Shifting back to business, she added, "Your problem is one of focus, Xander. You must learn to control the magic, rather than letting it do what it will."

There was no censure in her observation, but Xander hung his head. "I know," he said, frustrated. "It just keeps slipping loose."

She nodded. "You are at a disadvantage, discovering your magic so late in life. Control usually develops as a wizard matures, and that opportunity was taken from you. It is a singular problem."

Their conversation was interrupted by Angel entering the classroom. His arrival was so quick that he must have run the whole way, though he wasn't even the slightest bit out of breath. Xander thought he saw relief in the way Angel's shoulders relaxed, and was surprised to realize Angel had been worried by McGonagall's message.

"Ah, Angel," Minerva greeted him. "Xander is having some difficulties with control. Might you be able to provide some assistance?"

"Of course," Angel agreed instantly, trying to meet Xander's eye. Xander looked away, and saw McGonagall and Angel exchange a look in his peripheral vision. "On second thought," Angel said slowly, "I think there is something Xander and I need to work out. Can he resume his lesson this afternoon?"

Xander gave McGonagall his best pleading face, which she utterly ignored. "Of course. Half past noon would be best."

"Of course," Angel echoed, before seizing Xander by the arm and practically dragging him out of the room.

-

Angel was glad his rooms were close, since Xander seemed determine to pretend he didn't exist. The sheer nerve to do so, after what had happened the day before, caused Angel's demon to shriek with rage.

The moment he had the door closed behind them, he grabbed Xander's shoulders and pushed him into it. "What the hell?" Xander yelped. "Deadboy, watch it!"

He finally met Angel's eyes, and the fear Angel saw made him pause. He had been concentrating so hard on the shame he was getting from their bond, he hadn't even noticed Xander was afraid.

Ashamed of himself, he laid a hand on Xander's cheek, and the man's protests stopped as suddenly as if he had flipped a switch. They stared at each other for a moment in silence before Angel spoke. "You were acting like I did not exist. As if I'm nothing. Worse than that, something to be ashamed of."

"Oh, you mean because the thing where I kissed you and you turned me down? I'm way shame-having over that, thanks!" Xander retorted, but his voice was uneven.

Angel gave his head a shake, trying to make sense of that. "I turned you down?" he asked incredulously. "When did that happen?"

"You said, 'We can't!'"

It took a moment for the penny to drop. "Are you _kidding_ me?" Angel roared. "You think I rejected you because I told you I would lose my soul if we continued? Because being with you was so perfect it would certainly cause a moment of pure happiness and break the curse?"

Xander paused, scrunching his face in a half-hearted scowl. "Well, you didn't _say_ all that," he pointed out sulkily.

Angel sighed, resting his forehead against Xander's. When he continued his voice was calmer, almost plaintive. "After everything that happened between us you still doubt my attachment to you?"

Xander bit his lip. "Kinda?" Now guilt was pulsing across their bond, and Angel pulled back enough to look Xander in the eye.

"You shouldn't," he said simply, leaning close and giving Xander a short, almost chaste kiss. "And if we do this right, maybe you won't."

Of course, Xander took the bait. "Do what right?" he asked cautiously.

Angel stepped away, and pulled Xander toward the sofa. "Have you ever meditated?"

Unable to keep from snorting, Xander shook his head. "I'm not big on discovering my inner… whatever," he commented.

Angel rolled his eyes, and manhandled Xander until they were seated on the floor, Angel with his back propped against the sofa and Xander somewhat awkwardly nestled between his legs, his back resting against Angel's chest. His demon purred, approving of the position. "That's not exactly what we're doing today."

"So what are we doing?" Xander asked, craning his neck to look at Angel.

"Just turn around and trust me, alright?" Angel said, impatiently grabbing Xander's chin and pointing it forward, guiding Xander's head until it rested on Angel's shoulder. He allowed himself a moment to breathe in Xander's scent, before continuing in a voice so soft it was barely a whisper, right into the man's ear. "Just relax, Xan, and breathe. In and out, nice and slow, okay?"

He continued speaking, guiding Xander into a light trance until the man melted against him. The bond between them, normally humming with energy, slowly calmed until all Angel felt was peace and the gentle throb of Xander's heartbeat. "Good," he murmured. "Now I want you to look for me, Xander, inside your mind. Find the place where we're connected by your magic." With the ease of long practice, Angel looked inside himself for their bond and reached out to Xander with everything in him. "Look for me. Can you feel me reaching for you? Feel how much I care for you, want to protect you." He took a quiet, unnecessary breath when he felt the tentative touch of Xander reaching back. If he were honest with himself, he hadn't expected any success on this first try.

Knowing that this sort of mental work could be tiring to the uninitiated, he didn't press Xander to go further. "You've done such a good job," he praised. "Now I want you to wake up for me, but remember that place. Remember how I feel inside your mind. Remember how I belong there. Remember, and wake up for me, Xander."

Long moments passed as Xander came back to himself. Other than a slightly more rapid heartbeat, Angel would not have known he was awake, as Xander didn't move. Finally, he spoke.

"You care about me."

"Yes," Angel said, his voice still soft and gentle.

"Like, a lot."

"Yes," Angel repeated patiently.

"Oh," Xander breathed, and relief and awe colored his voice. "Okay."

-

After Xander had left, proclaiming his plans for a quick lunch before he was to return to Minerva, Angel headed for the library. He was surprised to find such a crowd; Harry and Draco had joined the Scoobies in their search. Even Faith was there, unhappily flipping through a book, which told him things were serious. He sat down across from Giles. "Any luck?"

Deep in thought, Giles did not react, so Angel reached out and covered his current page with a open hand. He waited until Giles looked up in confusion and repeated, "Any luck?"

Giles removed his glasses to rub his eyes tiredly. "I'm not certain that's the best way to phrase it." Angel frowned. "You're just in time. Albus should be here any second to discuss what we've found."

"And here I am," Albus announced, right on cue. He glanced around the table, taking in the grim expressions, and his eyes sharpened behind their glasses. "As your charges would say, Rupert, what's the what?"

Giles responded with a pained look, but otherwise ignored the interesting choice in language. He stood, leaning across the table to retrieve a particularly dusty book. Opening it to a page marked by a piece of parchment, he hesitated, staring at the spidery writing, before asking softly. "Voldemort… he was powerful?"

Angel shook his head with a feeling of dread as the others grew still, hanging on Albus' reply. The wizard's lips thinned. "That is an accurate assessment. I gather this is not an idle question?"

Giles laughed humorlessly. "I'm afraid not." He pointed at a diagram in the book before him. "There is a demon known as la Destructrice, the Destroyer," he started. "The last known summoning was in France in the fourteenth century, by a wizard named Gaston Tasse. Mourning the loss of his master, Tasse became obsessed with the thought of avenging his death, and believed the answer lay with la Destructrice. After a series of ritualized killings to summon her, the demon appeared, rewarding Tasse with the power of his master." Giles sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Tasse lost control, and la Destructrice broke loose. Provence was obliterated in the ensuing fight between wizard and demon before they killed each other." A bit dryly, he added, "I assume Lucius plans to skip that part."

Angel winced, able to piece together Lucius' plan. The wizard had strength of his own, but nothing compared to what he would gain from Voldemort. The combination would make him more powerful than Dumbledore or Harry, by far.

Harry slammed his fist into the table, earning a _shhh!_ from the librarian. "I won't see any part of that bastard back again," he vowed. "He's dead, every bit of him, and he'll stay that way." Dawn edged her chair closer, looking worriedly at Harry.

A few seats down, Faith gave a quicksilver smile. "What would we call him then? Voldius? Lucimort?" Save for Harry, everyone rolled their eyes, and tension dropped.

"How do we stop him?" Angel asked, refusing even to consider there wasn't a way.

"There's a list," Willow piped up. "Of what he has to kill? And the order, and everything. Since he just killed a Seer, he'll want a werewolf next. It has to be done during the full moon."

With effort, Angel kept an encouraging look on his face, but he didn't have high hopes for their success in stopping Lucius at that step. There were a lot of werewolves in the world.

He could tell Albus had the same thought. "I'll warn Remus Lupin. He can spread a message of caution among the werewolf packs."

"At least we have three weeks until the full moon," Buffy added.

"Indeed," Albus agreed. "We have time to prepare Alexander."

Angel asked, "Prepare him for what, exactly?" He tried to keep his voice even, but he could tell he hadn't been successful from the way all the humans leaned away from him.

Albus smiled, genial on the surface with steel underneath. "To fight Lucius, of course."

Something in Angel snapped. He had Albus by the throat before anyone could do more than blink. "I would rethink that plan," he growled.

In typical, infuriating fashion, Angel sensed no fear from Albus. The wizard was motionless, a placid expression on his face, not even making a move toward his wand. Everyone else had frozen in shock. After a long pause, Giles cleared his throat. "Yes, well, we have three weeks to come up with something better, do we not?" he said, mild and unflappable.

"Yeah," Buffy quickly agreed. "So how about we let go of the nice wizard, okay, Angel?"

Angel stared into Albus' blue eyes that suddenly seemed so alien. "I've always thought you were wise, and kind," he said softly. "I've counted you as a friend." He paused. "You don't want me as an enemy."

Albus twitched a hand, and Angel found himself sailing through the air. He landed in a crouch. Albus turned and smiled at the group. "Perhaps we should continue our discussion once tempers have cooled," he said, and left without looking at Angel.

"Holy shit," Faith whispered in the silence following his exit. Angel straightened and closed his eyes, trying to find calm. "Hey Fang?"

"What, Faith?" he snapped, glaring at her.

She grinned insouciantly. "Wanna go beat the crap out of each other?"

Angel felt a dangerous smile tease at his mouth. "Absolutely."

-

Xander left Angel's rooms feeling like a whole new man. He was calm and centered, aware of his power in a way he hadn't been before.

Plus, Angel cared about him. Like, a lot. How cool was that?

Unsurprisingly, his second lesson with McGonagall went much better than the first. Feeling his power the way he'd felt his connection with Angel, Xander found himself in control for once.

Unfortunately, McGonagall didn't have time to work with him for too long. As he bounced out of her classroom, flush with the success of his Levitation Charm, he almost ran right into Harry.

"I floated a feather!" he said in greeting, smiling stupidly.

Harry smiled back, but his smile had a brittle, dark edge that made Xander nervous. "That's brilliant. Do you need a break, or would you like to continue working?"

Xander hesitated, studying Harry. "Might as well keep on while I'm on a roll!" he said, his cheerfulness a bit dampened.

Harry nodded. "Follow me." Without waiting for a reply, he spun on his heel and headed toward the staircase.

Xander frowned. "Aye-aye," he muttered, before following obediently.

He quickly found himself in the dungeons, which he hadn't yet explored, mostly because he didn't want to. Glancing around dubiously, he commented, "Nice place. It's very… dank."

Harry snorted. "It suits him."

Wait. "Him who? There's only one person I've met that really seemed dungeony, and I'm really hoping you don't mean him because I kind of threw him into a wall with my magic, and…" They entered a classroom to find Snape and Draco waiting. Xander gulped. "Oh, this is not going to go well."

"Do not fret, Mister Harris," Snape drawled, fingering his wand. "I am under oath not to cause undue harm, provided you can manage to control yourself." His tone made it clear that he found the idea extremely doubtful.

Xander gave him a bright, fake smile. "I can control myself around people who aren't assholes. Are you an asshole?"

Harry choked, and Draco said smoothly, "What Xander means is—"

"I know exactly what he means," Snape snapped. He studied Xander with cold, black eyes, while Xander tried his hardest not to fidget. "Do not let my presence mislead you. I would be quite happy never to see you again. Indeed, should your inevitable battle with Lucius have an unpleasant end, I would not be distraught. However," his lip curled mockingly, "Albus seems under the impression that you are _important_, and thus I find myself giving up precious free time to provide you with instruction."

"Okay, but why?" Xander asked, trying to control his temper. "If you don't want to help, I'm doing just great with McGonagall. Why are you so important?"

Snape smirked. "You are in the presence of the two wizards who know Lucius Malfoy best," he announced dramatically. "Professor McGonagall is a skilled witch, but she has little experience with the darker aspects of magic."

That explained Snape and Draco, anyway. Xander turned to Harry. "You're here to keep us from killing each other, aren't you." It wasn't a question.

Harry looked away, shifty-eyed. "Maybe." Draco rolled his eyes. "Well, someone has to," Harry commented.

"Fun," Xander muttered. He met Snape's gaze with a challenging look. "Alright, what's first?"

-

They started with _Protego_. Much to Harry's surprise, the lesson started quite well. Xander learned the shield quickly, and seemed able to ignore Snape's jibes about Angel as easily as he deflected the minor curses they sent his way. Unfortunately, as the curses increased in complexity, Snape's comments grew worse and worse, until Harry was having flashbacks to his most unpleasant Potions classes and even Draco seemed close to hexing the man.

After about an hour, Xander was staggering slightly. "Perhaps we should end this session," Snape sneered. "Poor Mister Harris seems quite exhausted. Real work is difficult, is it not?"

Xander rolled his eyes. "I'm fine," he panted. "Keep 'em coming."

"It's important to know your limits," Snape said coolly. Before Xander could respond, he sent off a powerful cutting curse that shattered Xander's shield and left a thin red line along Xander's arm. Xander bunched up his sleeve against the cut, trying to stop the bleeding, while Snape continued speaking. "Were this a real battle, you would be dead right now, Harris. You seem unaware that actions have consequences, which is utterly unsurprising given the company you keep."

After ignoring his taunts all session, Xander finally rose to the bait. "Angel knows more about consequences than anyone," he said quietly.

"If he truly understood consequences, he would kill himself and spare the world the trouble," Snape said, dismissive. He had his wand raised to cast another curse when he suddenly froze.

Harry's gaze swung quickly to Xander, but he saw no signs that the man had lost control. In fact, Xander seemed entirely focused, his magic drawn close, as he stalked up to the professor. Harry readied his wand, but Draco grabbed the tip and pushed it down. "Wait," he whispered.

Harry shrugged, and didn't cast, although he aimed his wand. Xander's power beat against his skin, dark and unnatural.

"People like you gross me out," Xander commented, as matter of fact as if he were discussing the weather. "You stand there and you brag about your dark magic, and then you tell me Angel should be dead. You glory in your clan's past, unable to let things go, when it never occurs to you that you did something even worse to an innocent soul."

The door banged open, and Angel and Faith ran in, coming to a sudden stop as they tried to make sense of what they were seeing.

"Yeah, innocent," Xander repeated. "Liam was hardly a prize, for sure, but he had no blood on his hands. You took his departed soul and you chained it to a demon, and you congratulated yourself on a job well done. Meanwhile, Angel was trying not to walk into sunlight over deaths his soul had nothing to do with. Did it even occur to you guys that torment for the demon meant torment for the soul as well? Or did you just not care since it came from outside your clan?"

Harry looked at Angel, expecting him to go to Xander, but the vampire appeared too poleaxed by what he was hearing to move.

"And don't even get me started on that out clause! Of all the idiotic, Xander-level stupidity there is in the world, that really tops it. Because that's for the soul, isn't it? I mean, I doubt the demon was real psyched about Angel getting a happy with the Slayer. But now Angel has to live with the knowledge that if he ever gets too happy, gets too close to anyone else, he could destroy everything. And then the demon would get what it wants." Xander leaned closer to Snape, lowering his voice confidentially. "That's a mind-fuck that Angelus would envy, my friend.

"So, yeah. You stand there and tell me Angel should dust himself, and you know what I hear? A little boy crying because he's losing big in the second chances ball game. Angel's helped stop apocalypses. Compared to him, you're in the minor leagues."

The sense of power rushing through the room stopped as Snape stumbled, suddenly released from his paralysis. He and Xander stared at each other for a long moment. "Get out," Snape whispered.

Turning to leave, Xander stiffened when he saw Angel. He lifted his chin and strode out without a word. Snape hurried into his office and slammed the door, while everyone else stood stupidly.

"Bloody fuck," Harry swore once he was sure both men were out of earshot. "That wasn't like the other times."

Draco shook his head. "No, Xander was quite in control here. Impressive, really."

"That's why you didn't want me to stop him," Harry realized. "You were curious."

Draco lifted a shoulder in a one-sided shrug. "We need to know what he's capable of."

"Hang on," Angel interrupted. "Xander knew what he was doing?"

"And what he was saying," Draco replied, cutting to the heart of the matter.

"Boytoy's got a way with words," Faith said, impressed. She glanced at Angel. "How's it going, Angel?"

Angel turned to her with a perfectly blank expression. "He was standing up for me," he told her, as if she hadn't been standing right there when it happened.

Faith nodded slowly, giving him an odd look. "Yeah. I noticed."

"I should…" Angel gestured vaguely toward the door, and wandered out.

"In a fair world, those two would be making the beast with two backs right now," Faith commented. Draco made a face, and Harry could feel himself blush. She put her hands on her hips, and gave both wizards a speculative look. They shifted uncomfortably.

"What?" Draco snapped, earning a wide grin.

"Just enjoying the view," she said sweetly.

Harry exchanged a look with Draco, who muttered something about checking on Snape and all but ran into the office. Faith's grin grew toothier. "And then there were two," she said.

"I've got to go talk to Albus," Harry lied, and fled.


End file.
